


since you've been gone (I can breathe for the first time)

by TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Familial Hanahaki, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, I promise this isn't as dark as the tags, Major Character Injury, Ra's being a creep, Temporary Character Death, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Whump, abuse of non-prescription medication, both canon and not, but what else is new, robin jason and baby Tim friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse/pseuds/TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse
Summary: Tim Drake and his experiences with Hanahaki, a saga. Featuring the Assassins Trio, the Gotham Sirens, more details of Icelandic geography than you would expect, and lots and lots of angst.Also, memes.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Owens & Zeddmore Washington & Prudence Wood, Tim Drake & Pamela Isley, Tim Drake & Selina Kyle
Comments: 26
Kudos: 257
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2020, Works good enough I will definitely reread





	since you've been gone (I can breathe for the first time)

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic was done by the incredible Ace_Snake! 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful Stray Cat Strut for betaing this monstrosity!
> 
> This fic has been plaguing me since April and I am so glad to release it into the wild.

Tim sometimes thought that he’d been born with Hanahaki.

It wasn’t a serious case, at first. Just that, sometimes, when his parents had been away for a while and Tim was letting himself think about them, he coughed up flowers. Just rosemary and pink camellias, never blood or anything like that.

It made it hard, some nights, to chase Batman across the Gotham rooftops when the flowers clogged his lungs. He’d sit down next to a chimney or a vent and lean against it for support as he wheezed. Those were the nights he took the city bus home early, because hacking up piles of petals wasn’t particularly conducive to not being caught by Batman.

There was one night when he started coughing that Robin- Jason, not Dick– turned towards him. Tim managed to duck behind a car fast enough that the other boy didn’t see him. Jason shrugged and turned back to the case he and Batman were working on.

It was that day that Tim vowed to do something about it.

* * *

First, he tried the unscrupulous doctors in Park Row he’d heard would slip people prescriptions on the down-low, but they just told him that none of the cough suppressants they offered would do anything of worth for Hanahaki.

So Tim, never one to be defeated, made his way down to the park by the docks that had become Poison Ivy’s lair. He approached the mass of stems and leaves that guarded the exterior and- feeling a bit silly- knocked.

“Doctor Isley?” He called, “Please, ma’am, I have a question for you? It’s about plants and it’s kinda urgent?”

There was a distant rustling and the stems parted to form a tunnel.

“Thank you!”

Tim walked through the winding pathway, having to use his emergency tactical flashlight to navigate the darkness. Eventually he emerged into a small grove, where Pamela Isley was sat on the ground, barefoot in ripped, loose-fitting jeans and a faded flannel shirt.

“How can I help you?” She asked.

“Well, uh, you see, uh I have uh…Hanahaki? Do you know how I can stop coughing up the petals? I don’t mind them but it’s hard when you’re trying to be stealthy…”

She looked saddened.

“A kid your age shouldn’t have Hanahaki,” she said.

“I’m older than I look!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine, yeah, I’m nine, but it’s okay! It’s not a bad case.”

“You are a child. You should not have flowers growing in your lungs.”

Tim hung his head.

“I didn’t ask for it,” he said, “I keep trying to make them come back but they never stay long.”

She sighed and rose to her feet. Her long hair was in a braid that slipped off her shoulder. She walked over to him, cautiously laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you know anything about the flowers?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Rosemary and pink camellias.”

She smiled.

“You’re a smart child, aren’t you?”

“…I think so? Thank you.”

She dropped her hand before sighing again.

“There’s not much I can do,” she said, “I’ve never treated Hanahaki before. But…there is a black market growth halter that would slow it. It’s not known to many people because it’s new on the scene, and it’s really only used on adults. In a child…well, it might slow your growth, but if you feel it’s worth it…”

“I do.”

“…alright, we’ll get you some. Come back here next Wednesday, kiddo.”

“What time?”

“Any time after dark. Now, go home and behave yourself. And…I hope you feel better, kid.”

“Thank you, Doctor Isley. Please don’t get arrested any time soon.”

She laughed.

“No promises,” she replied with a wink.

* * *

Tim returned the next week to find Selina Kyle sitting on a park bench.

“Hello, Ms Kyle,” he said, “Or…Cat Woman?”

Selina startled, more for dramatic effect than actual shock.

“You must be the boy Pamela said to meet. How do you know my name?”

“I pay attention.”

“…you’re the Drake boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I also like to follow Batman,” he said, sitting next to her on the bench.

“Do you, now?”

“Uh-huh. I also know who he…really is.”

Selina considered him, seeming to approve of him.

“And you’re fine with me knowing that you know that?”

“I saw you climbing into his bedroom window last week, Ms Kyle, and you weren’t in costume when you left.”

Selina laughed.

“I like you, kitten. You know what? You can call me Selina, and I’m not going to steal anything from you.”

“You’re very kind, Ms K-Selina. How much do I owe you for the medication?”

“Consider it a gift, kiddo. I better not catch you chasing after Batman on school nights or I will drop your little ass in front of Jim Gordon and he can lecture you.”

“...yes, ma’am.”

“It’s Tim, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Tim,” she said, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, “This is my phone number. You will call me if you run into any trouble of the streets, and you will also be meeting with me every Sunday evening when your parents aren’t home to make sure that someone gives you a good dinner.”

“Yes, Selina.”

She handed him a piece of paper and a sparkly gift bag.

“Pro tip,” she whispered, “Paper bags are always suspicious, but gift bags just make me seem like your auntie.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, get on your way and do your homework.”

Tim nodded and dashed away.

He was smiling to himself as he ran.

* * *

The medicine was working, he hadn’t felt the flowers curling against the walls of his lungs all week. His body was unhappy with him, however. His joints were aching.

Tim probably shouldn’t have kept taking them, but it was so nice to _finally_ breathe like a normal person did.

He woke up each morning able to breath freely. He could sleep on his back without fear of choking. He could run.

It was so _freeing_ , and he couldn’t bring himself to stop, no matter how many dizzy spells he underwent, no matter how much pain his joints were in. Tim could stand the pain. It was better than the constant, nagging reminder that his parents didn’t really love him clogging his lungs and spreading across his room.

His first meet up with Selina had gone well, she had given him dinner and introduced him to some of her many, many cats.

He’d decided he liked Selina, and that maybe he was a cat person.

His parents weren’t cat people. Or animal people. Or child people. 

Tim shook his head to clear the thoughts of his parents.

It was Friday. He could chase Batman again.

Tim pulled his child-sized combat boots (Gotham was a fucked-up place) and double-checked to make sure he had everything he needed. He had his jacket, his camera case, his keys, his cell phone, and his wallet. He also had a can of mace that Selina had given him.

“I guess I’m ready to go,” he said to himself.

He trudged down the road a ways to the bus stop, which was so isolated it didn’t have a bench. He stood for about fifteen minutes before the bus trudged up the steep hill, shuddering to a stop in front of him.

“One into town, please,” Tim said, presenting his card to the bus driver.

The man slid his card and handed it back to him.

Tim sat at the very back of the bus, jammed into the corner to avoid being questioned. Not that he had ever been questioned. The people of Gotham seemed to ignore a small child running around the streets, just passing it off as a normal street kid up to mischief.

Tim got off at one of the Park Row stops and ducked down an alley. He scaled the fire escape and climbed up to the roof, where he ducked behind an AC vent.

“Eight forty-seven,” he muttered to himself, “Robin is due through in three minutes. Good job, me.”

“Uh, yeah, but he’s running a bit early,” said Jason.

Tim yelped, whipped around and scrambled backwards at the same time. His eyes were bulging out of his head.

“R-robin!” he cried.

“That’s the name. Why are you up here? Why do you know my name? Is that a camera? Are you a spy?” Jason demanded.

“What? No. I just like taking pictures. And you kinda have a routine? It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

Jason sighed.

“A kid like you really shouldn’t be out here alone. Where the fuck are your parents?”

“In a land far, far away,” Tim replied as he tried not to think about the cold email he’d gotten that morning reporting that they’d be gone an extra two months.

For better or for worse, Jason softened, probably thinking this meant they were dead.

“Anyone looking out for you?” He asked.

Tim shrugged.

“CatWoman and Poison Ivy made me put them on speed dial.”

“Good. Don’t fucking go out on school nights. School is important. Also, do your homework. Do you have a weapon?”

“I have mace and a tactical flashlight.”

Jason nodded.

“Good, good. You know what? You need more.”

“Uh, what?”

“Okie-dokie, what have we got here? Flash-bang, tazer, batarang…do you go from roof to roof? Yes? Okay, you need a fucking grappling hook. Here you go. These should tide you over for most emergencies. Do you have a first aid kit?”

Tim nodded.

“That’s key. Gimme your phone.”

Tim handed it over, trying to resist the urge to grin like a maniac at the fact that he was talking to Robin ( _Robin!_ ).

“I’m giving you mine and Batman’s patrol phone numbers. Fuck it, I’ll give you Nightwing and Batgirl’s numbers, too. You call us in an emergency, okay?”

“Okay, Robin.”

“Good. Now, you go home before midnight. Be in bed by one. Get sleep. You need your fucking sleep.”

“Yes, Mom,” Tim snarked.

Jason flipped him off.

“I mean it, kid. And don’t let Batman catch you unless you want to be forcibly adopted for looking so tiny and pathetic. He will do it. Don’t try him.”

“Thanks? I do okay on my own.”

Jason eyed him suspiciously.

“Uh-huh. Does your squat have a roof?”

“I have a house. My guardians just aren’t around.”

"That's fine, then. What's your name, kid?" 

"Jim," Tim blurted out in a panic.

“Alright. Nice to meet you, Jim. Be safe, you little twerp. I better not see you round during the week.”

And with that, Jason grappled away.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Tim yelled after him as he fumbled with his camera, “You were out last Tuesday!”

The only reply was Jason’s distant cackle.

* * *

Selina kept making him come over for dinner. Tim wasn’t sure why Selina was making him come over for dinner, but he wasn’t exactly going to say no to someone making him dinner. Also, she let him eat with her on the couch while they watched old episodes of Star Trek.

Tim had never eaten on a couch before. He had also never eaten anything with a cat sitting on him.

The first time one of the cats sat on him, Tim froze.

“S-selina?” Tim called.

“Yes?” She replied.

“Is this…good?”

She turned around.

“Oh, that’s very good,” she said, “That’s Jack, he’s very anti-social. I was worried about him getting lonely, poor baby, he doesn’t like the other kitties much. He must like you.”

“Do I…pet him?”

“You can if you want to.”

“O-okay.”

Tim tentatively reached out his hand and gently brushed the top of the cat’s head with his fingers. Jack let out a “mrrp” noise and headbutted Tim’s hand.

Tim looked at Selina.

“That’s a good thing, kitten,” she said fondly, “Now, what dipping sauce do you want with your chicken strips and fries?”

“Barbeque, please.”

“Barbeque it is. Do you have the episode ready?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”

Selina made her way over, gracefully stepping through the milling cats on her way over to the couch where she had set up two breakfast trays. She handed him his plate and sat down.

“Thank you, Selina,” he said.

“You’re welcome, kitten. Now, let’s see what Kirk’s up to, hm?”

* * *

Tim woke up to a dark room. There were several soft and warm blankets laid on him and a pillow under his head. There were also a few cats sleeping around him.

“Be quiet,” Selina was hissing, “I know you’re injured, but I have a child sleeping here.”

“Did you steal a baby?” Bruce Wayne mumbled.

“What? No. Ivy found a sad little kid. We’re not taking him in but we’re keeping an eye on him.”

“The Gotham Sirens, patron goddesses of plants, cats, hyenas, and misplaced children,” Bruce joked, voice tight with pain.

“…you know about Harley’s hyena?”

“Selina, darling, she took out a billboard across from my office informing me of the new addition to the family, complimenting my ass, and giving me her phone number. How’d she find the kid?”

“He found her, technically. He…poor kiddo has Hanahaki.”

Bruce inhaled sharply.

“His parents?” He hissed.

“Yes. No packing him up and stealing away into a bat-hoard of orphans yet. Ivy and I are keeping an eye on him and we will let you know if you need to step in.”

“…fine.”

“Good. Now, let’s get you to my medical room, I’ll patch you up before Alfred arrives.”

As they walked away, Tim drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

This was the status quo for another few months, until one October evening his parents arrived home.

It had been one of those finicky days that couldn’t decide whether to be overcast, sunny, or rainy. There were clouds in the sky as the light of day died and the red glow of the city at night began to rise.

Tim was sitting in the solarium, wrapped in blankets and working on editing some of the photos he took on his new DSLR when he got the gate alert that there was a car coming through.

It was the town car his parents used to get back from the airport.

“Shit,” Tim swore, saving his work and closing the computer. He grabbed all the blankets and ran up to his room. He set the computer on the desk before chucking the blankets into the closet laundry hamper. He had learned a while ago to keep an extra set of clothes ready for the possibility of his parents coming home unexpectedly, so he grabbed them and put them on, running a comb through his hair quickly before running back downstairs again.

He opened the door right as his mother went to raise her hand to knock.

“Hello, Mother. Hello, Father,” Tim said. “Welcome home. How was your journey?”

They swept past him.

“It was intolerable. The state of first class these days, honestly,” Janet complained.

“I’d switch to a private plane if it weren’t so monumentally horrid for the environment,” Jack added.

“Oh, yes, of course. Timothy, I trust you have been behaving yourself?”

“Yes, Mother. I have been keeping up with my studies, and I have taken the initiative to prepare a proposal for a repurposing of our unused hall.”

“Elaborate,” Jack said.

“At present, much of the décor of this particular hall is fairly outdated and…common. I have examined a number of other mansions that have made their interiors available to the public, but I have yet to see one that has a hall devoted to the discoveries of the occupants. Therefore I believe it would be rather impressive to repurpose the room in order to showcase some of the more interesting of your archaeological finds. I have designed a remodel and drawn up a schedule and budget.”

“Hmm,” mused Janet, “Do you not think that it would come across as self-centred?”

“No more self-centred as those who decorate their halls with portraits of themselves, Mother.”

“I think it’s a great idea, Janet. And it’ll give the boy something to do with his time rather than just playing video games and slacking off. You know how children are. You have to give them something for them to do or they lose all backbone.”

Janet sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. Timothy, send me the proposed remodel schemes. I will get back to you with my thoughts.”

He nodded.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, “Perhaps it will be a good place for you to host dinner parties when you come home?”

“Perhaps, indeed. Now, it’s been a very long day for us. We will be going to bed.”

“Good night, Mother and Father. I will see you in the morning.”

They walked away.

* * *

Tim did not see them in the morning. What Tim did see in the morning was a note that told him they were going to town to review things at the museum, and that Janet had sent him her thoughts on his proposal.

“Great,” muttered Tim, shoving the note in his pocket.

He felt the flowers in his chest shift, growing ever so slightly bigger.

“Not now,” he mumbled.

He wasn’t able to take the meds when his parents were back; they’d notice him slipping away to do the injections, and he’d had to carefully steal away his sharps container the night before. Plus he’d run out of meds and couldn’t meet up with Selina to get his next dose, now.

Tim wanted to cry. In just one evening, the reality he’d crafted for himself, the one that made him happy, was crumbling around him.

He swallowed the tears, instead choosing to get up and make himself some breakfast.

He coughed.

Four perfect petals fell out.

* * *

Tim didn’t go out into Gotham that weekend.

Well, he _kinda_ did.

He went to a gala with his parents.

Tim hated the galas. There were too many people, too much noise, and too many rules. He was stuffed into a stiff and uncomfortable suit, his hair sprayed with hairspray (which smelled _gross_ ), and his phone had been confiscated for the night in order to “keep him from being distracted.”

“Timothy, you will not be walking the red carpet with us. The driver will take you around the back entrance, it’s all been arranged. Do meet up with us once we enter the building.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And don’t fidget with your cufflinks, you’ll wrinkle your shirt.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Most of the children go through the back of the door, so do try to rub elbows with a few good families, okay?”

“Yes, Father.”

Jack smiled at him.

“Good on you, son.”

“Is there anyone in particular you would like me to attempt to socialise with?”

“The Reynolds girl. We’re trying to close a deal with her parents. Also, Wayne has that new son of his. No one’s successfully befriended him yet so if you can accomplish it that would be swell. But he is…lower class by birth, so do be aware of that when you speak with him.”

“I will, Mother.”

“You’re such a good child, Timothy. It’s going to help you go far in life.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

The driver pulled up to the back entrance, where several other of the wealthier children of the city were getting out to enter the building. One of them was Jason Todd, who was leaning against the wall and fidgeting with his sleeves, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Go,” Janet said, gesturing at the door.

Tim nodded and got out of the car.

His parents pulled away.

Tim walked over to where Jason was standing.

“Hi,” he said.

Jason squinted at him. 

“Hello,” he replied.

“I’m Tim.”

“Jason. Why are you talking to me?”

Tim flushed.

“Sorry. I just haven’t talked to you, and I’ve talked to everyone here before. And so it seemed like I should talk to you.”

Jason shrugged.

“Well, now you have.”

Tim nodded.

“Want to go in together?” He asked.

“Why not? So, kid, what do you do?”

“I like computers and mysteries,” Tim said, “Like Sherlock. Sherlock is really cool. Do you like Sherlock?”

“I’m more of a Jane Austen man myself, but Sherlock is good. Do you read a lot?”

“Not as much as I should. It’s hard to sit there and focus when I could just be doing things. I like doing things. Like computer programs.”

“You could listen to audiobooks,” Jason suggested.

“What’s an audiobook?” Tim asked.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Tim shook his head.

“It’s where people record themselves reading a book so you can listen to the book rather than reading it.”

“Wow,” Tim said, “That sounds _great_. I’m going to try that! Thank you, Jason.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

“Jaylad!” Bruce called, shoving his way through the crowd. “There you are. I was looking for you. Who’s this?”

“I’m Tim Drake, sir.”

“Oh, Jack and Janet’s son. Are your parents here?”

“Yes, sir, they said they were coming in the front so I’m just waiting for them.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Are you a friend of Jason’s?”

“We just met tonight,” Jason said, “C’mon, B, don’t interrogate the poor kid.”

Bruce sighed.

“I suppose you’re right, Jaylad. Well, we had better get to socializing. Do come over with your parents, Timothy.”

Tim nodded.

“We will, sir.”

And with that, they made their way off.

Tim stood against the wall, waiting for his parents for a few minutes.

“Why aren’t you socializing?” Jack demanded when they reunited with him.

“I did. I’ve already spoken to Jason Todd. Mr. Wayne told me to tell you to come over and catch up with him.”

His parents relaxed ever so slightly.

“Well done, darling,” said his mother.

“I haven’t seen Dahlia yet, or I would have spoken to her as well.”

They frowned.

“Dahlia?” Asked his father.

“Yes, the Reynolds’ daughter? You asked me to speak to her as well.”

“Hm, yes, quite right. Let’s go in, son.”

He followed in his parent’s wake, careful not to step on the train of his mother’s dress. They made their way through the crowds. Tim’s parents stopped every once in a while and chatted with various people. Tim was mostly ignored for the night, but for when the people they spoke to commented on what a nice, mature child his parents had. When this happened, Tim raised his head, met their eyes, smiled- widely but not _too_ widely- at them, and said “Thank you very much for the compliment.” This was usually met with laughs and more compliments lavished upon his parents for their nice, well behaved son that had _such_ good manners.

Tim was mostly thinking about the Riddler, who had posted a clue on Twitter that morning that was to lead to his next mischief. He’d been turning the clue over in his head all day, determined to figure it out.

His parents were talking to the Davis family when it clicked.

He knew what the Riddler was going to do.

Tim looked around the room, desperately searching for someone to tell. Selina was in one of the corners, hiding her calculating expression behind a flute of champagne.

 _Perfect_ , he thought.

Once the Davises had walked away, Tim turned to his parents.

“Mother, Father,” he said, “May I please go get some water? And is there anything you would like me to get you?”

“You may go. I don’t need anything. Do you, Jack?”

“All good here.”

“Don’t hurry back, Timothy. See if you can find some other children to talk to while you’re gone.”

“Yes, Mother.”

He slipped away, dodging through the crowd until he was standing beside Selina.

“Psst,” he hissed.

Selina startled.

“Oh, there you are, kitten,” she said, “I was worried about you.”

“Hello, Selina. My parents came home so I couldn’t sneak out last night to meet you. Sorry.”

“No worries, darling. Are you feeling okay?”

He shrugged.

“I’m alright. I’ve coughed up some petals again. But I have good news. I solved the Riddler’s latest hint and I need you to slip the info to the Bat.”

She frowned.

“Alright, kitten, what have you got?”

“He’s putting a bomb in City Hall tonight that’ll blow in the morning. It’s under Councilwoman Gary’s chair. I’m sure.”

Selina nodded.

“I’ll get it to him. Take care of yourself, kiddo. Do you know if your parents are going to be out anytime this week?”

Tim shook his head.

“They don’t tell me anything,” he said, “Plus, there’s no point in trying to get me the meds. I can’t take them while they’re here. They’d notice me slipping away to do the injections.”

“Okay. You let me know if you need anything, kitten.”

“I will. Thanks, Selina.”

She winked at him and slipped away. He watched as she slid up to Bruce, catching his attention before leaning into his personal space and whispering in his ear. Bruce listened, fake smile affixed on his face, as she spoke.

He and Jason were heading out the door a few minutes later.

Tim watched them leave with a smile.

He’d done well that night.

* * *

His parents didn’t seem to agree.

“I can’t believe that Bruce just left without a word,” Jack grumbled during the car ride back home.

“I know. I expected better from him, honestly. He's from one of the oldest families around. Shouldn't he have better manners than that?"

"I know, Janet, it's absolutely disgraceful. Timothy, do you have any successes to report?"

"Successes?"

"With the other children."

"Oh. No. Dahlia wasn't there. I did talk to Jason for a bit and we bonded over literature. He even suggested that I try using audio books so that I can read books and do things at the same time after I told him I had a problem with that."

His parents were silent.

"You admitted a weakness to him?" Janet's voice was calm and collected, but her disappointment practically roared.

Tim shrank back.

"It was calculated," he replied in a small voice, "Jason isn't from our world. He's from the streets. He wouldn't seek out intellectual weaknesses like our kind would. He'd see an admission of weakness as a kind of bonding and he responded as predicted by offering assistance."

"I suppose that can be allowed, then," said Janet.

"Don't do it again," warned his father.

Tim nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Everyone makes mistakes," replied Janet.

They went back to talking to each other, ignoring Tim.

He could feel the petals rising in his lungs, choking his airwaves. He tried not to panic or show any sign of what was happening, afraid of how his parents would react.

He inhaled and exhaled through his nose. He could feel the soft petals and hard stalks brushing against the interior walls of his lungs as they expanded and contracted, and the petals fluttered gently as the air rushed around them.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to be out on the rooftops of Gotham, watching Batman and Robin work. He wanted to see Nightwing again, and maybe he would hug him like he had when he was a child.

Maybe that would make him feel okay again.

When they got home, Tim dutifully said his polite good nights to his parents before carefully rushing upstairs in as collected a manner as he could manage. He locked his bedroom door and yanked off his suit jacket. As he pulled off the tie, he staggered across his room and made it to the trash can.

 _Cough_.

He coughed and he coughed and he coughed like he never had before.

Never in his life had he been so glad that his parents had had his room sound-proofed to keep the noise of the child from disturbing them as he was then.

When it was done, he looked down at the pile of petals.

There, sitting atop the petals like a dew drop, was the first blood of his disease.

* * *

Tim managed to keep a fairly tight lid on the Hanahaki until his parents left again a few days later. He'd only had one slip (he'd coughed in front of Jack, who hadn't been paying attention, and had managed to shove the treacherous petals into the pocket of his coat while they were at the museum one day).

"Where are you going?" Tim asked as they stood in the doorway waiting for the driver.

"China," Jack said, "Very interesting dig in the Lake Tai area, possibly involving Majiabang artefacts. Should we send you anything?"

"I would like a vase, please. My school is doing a still life photography contest, and I was thinking it would be nice to include some of your discoveries in it."

"Very good, Timothy. I shall send you a list of items you may use for this purpose. I will also be expecting progress reports on the hall conversion."

"Yes, Mother."

"And do behave yourself when we're gone. I want to come home to a whole house, not just half of one," Jack jested.

"I will, Father."

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, that's the driver. We'll be off, then."

"Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye, son," said Jack.

"Yes, goodbye, Timothy," Janet said as she opened the door.

"I love you," Tim said.

The only response was the door shutting behind them.

Tim sighed and locked it, waiting until he heard the car drive off to go back to his room.

He collapsed on to his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

The flowers rustled in his lungs.

He groaned and rolled over, grabbed his phone from the nightstand and called Selina.

"What's up, kitten?" she answered.

"My parents left. I need my meds. Can I come into town and pick them up from you?"

"I'll do you one better, kitten. I'm headed back to Gotham right now and I'll pick you up. You can join ladies night."

"...ladies night?"

"Yes. It's Harley, Ivy, and I. We get together, do mani-pedis, skincare, watch a movie, chat shit. You know, ladies night."

"I have never heard of this," said Tim, who was, after all, a ten-year-old boy whose only real maternal contact was from Janet Drake, who would never deign to engage in a ladies night.

"Ah, c'mon, it'll be fun. We'll watch _Heathers_. You'll love it."

* * *

"These people are really stupid," Tim said about an hour later.

"Quit your yappin', kid, you're gonna mess up your mask," said Harley.

Tim wisely did not answer this.

"He is right," said Poison Ivy, who was painting Selina's nails a blood red colour, "They _are_ idiots."

"Shut up, Pammy, I'm trying to enjoy the flick!"

"Is it safe for the hyena to be here?" asked Tim, "because I don't think the hyena should be in here."

"Brucie? He's tamer than anything. Certainly tamer than my ex."

Everyone groaned.

"No Joker talk at ladies night, Harley," scolded Selina.

"Is it still ladies night with me here?" Tim mused.

"Well, we're not coming up with a new word," said Ivy, "So yes."

"Okay. I was just wondering."

"Oh, c'mon, that's a terrible move," Selina complained as J.D. and Veronica started making out.

"Yeah, girl, he is totally unstable. Trust me, I'm a psychiatrist," Harley said, "Timmy, do you want dark blue glitter or dark blue holo glitter?"

"...holo?"

"Good choice."

"Thanks?"

"It'll bring out your complexion, kitten. Really, Veronica? You're going to fuck him?"

"Yeah, Veronica," Tim said, "You can do better."

"Aww, he's learning so well," Ivy said.

"Yeah, next thing you know he'll be telling you all about the importance of witch hazel in skincare," Harley added, "Now, Tim, don't worry about fidgeting, we can clean it off."

* * *

"Did she just kill him?" Tim asked.

"Yup," replied Selina

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Yup," she said again.

"...so then why did she kill him?"

"It's a movie, kiddo, it doesn't follow the laws. And neither do people, usually. I mean," Pamela gestured to the gathered women.

“Oh. Yeah,” said Tim.

He yawned.

“Alright, kitten,” Selina soothed, “It’s time for bed. You’re staying here tonight.”

“I don’t have to. I’m not that sleepy, I can take the bus home.”

“But you don’t need to. C’mon, kitten, I have a bedroom ready for you. We’ll get you some of Robin’s old PJs to use for the night. Alright?”

“Okay, Selina.”

He followed her down the hallway, moving around the cats as they went.

“Here’s the bedroom. It’s an ensuite, so you can take a shower before bed if you want. I’ll get you up tomorrow and we’ll go get brunch, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, kitten.”

Tim went into the room, which was starkly decorated in the sleek, minimalist style that Selina seemed to use as the backdrop for displaying her spoils of war.

He showered quickly using the hotel-style mini tubes of soap that Selina had in the bathroom and towelled off his hair with one of the very soft towels she’d provided. He changed into the too big pyjamas she’d laid out and brushed his teeth.

The bed was surprisingly comfortable, piled high with down and knit blankets. He climbed in and wrapped himself in the blankets, stifling himself in the warmth.

For the first time in a week, he slept peacefully.

* * *

Tim woke, slightly too warm, to the smell of coffee.

He fought his way out of bed and made his way into the kitchen, where he found Selina cooking breakfast for about forty cats and two exhausted looking super villains.

“Good morning, kitten,” she said, “Did you sleep well?”

Tim nodded.

“Good morning, Selina, Dr Isley, Dr Quinn,” he said, “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Bacon, eggs, sausages, a mushroom fry up, and baguette toast.”

“She’s tryin’ to give us heart attacks,” Harley said.

Selina snorted.

“We’re active anti-heroes,” she said, “We need our protein.”

“And maybe some vegetables,” Poison Ivy said, “Vegetables would be nice.”

“Hence the mushrooms. Tim, do you want anything to drink?”

“…the coffee smells good.”

“Well alright.”

“Just don’t drink too much of it,” Ivy teased. “You’ll stunt your growth.”

“That’s a myth,” said Tim.

“I know, kid.”

After breakfast, Selina dropped him off at Drake Manor again.

“Call me if you need anything, kitten,” she said. 

“I will. Thanks, Selina.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Tim smiled as he turned back to his house.

The flowers in his lungs withered a bit.

* * *

The next few years continued in that cycle. Tim spent his weekend nights on the Gotham rooftops and talked with Robin and the Sirens and spent his weeknights alone in his house, working on homework or editing his pictures. Selina bullied him into coming over for dinner on Sundays. Ivy and Harley escorted him home if they caught him out after three in the morning. And, sometimes, his parents came home and he coughed up bloody petals.

The Sirens seemed to pity him, most of the time. He’d catch sight of their sad smiles directed at him out of the corners of his eyes, see the softly sorrowful looks they’d give him when one of them showed up to hand off his medications.

It grated at him. He didn’t need to be _pitied_. It was a sad fact of life, he said to himself, that sometimes parents do not love their children, and that’s fine. You can’t force people to love you, after all.

(He really wasn’t sure why that had driven Harley into a rage when he’d said that to her when they were eating McDonald’s in the park one night, but the ensuing rage had resulted in the defacing of ten Drake Industries billboards and a very bemused Jim Gordon remarking to Batman that maybe Harley was turning over another new leaf. Batman did not reply, as he was trying not to laugh at the image of Jack and Janet Drake with spray painted clown noses and Indiana Jones outfits with the caption “Archaeologists are thieves.”

(Tim’s parents had been decidedly less amused and didn’t come to Gotham for another four months. Tim wasn’t sure whether to be happy he wasn’t coughing up petals or sad that they missed his birthday again.)

Jason had, by some miracle, not connected the dots between Timothy Drake, the kid he talked to at galas, and Jim, the kid he talked to on the rooftops of Gotham. This probably had less to do with miracles and more to do with the fact that he’d stolen a page out of Clark Kent/Superman’s book and donned a different hairstyle and a pair of glasses when he went out on the streets.

(Like, hey, he figured out who Batman was with a whole ass cowl. Clark Kent, who let photographers get close to his face as Superman and used an actual picture of himself as his Clark Chirper profile, was an easy mark.)

He liked talking to Jason. Jason didn’t treat him like he was some dumb kid. Instead, he listened to Tim. Actually, genuinely listened to Tim, and didn’t just nod and say “uh-huh,” instead he actually had productive comments that gave Tim ideas and guidance.

He had yet, much to Jason’s upset, to read any of Jane Austen’s works.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jason shouted, “It’s been three years, kid, and you haven’t even cracked open _Sense and Sensibility_? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been reading more important things,” Tim said. 

“What the fuck can be more important than fine literature?”

“Survival manuals.”

Jason blinked.

“What?”

“Survival manuals. So I can deal with whatever life decides to throw at me.”

“...fuck, you sound like Dadman-Batdad-Daddad-fuck- _Batman_.”

Tim snorted.

“Smooth,” he teased.

“Shut up, dork,” Jason said fondly before growing serious, “Hey, Jim, I have something to tell you. I’m…I may not be around, for a while.”

“Okay. Why?”

“I have a lead on my birth mom.”

Tim sympathised with Jason’s desire to find his birth mother, he really did, but he didn’t _get_ it. He knew that Jason missed Catherine, his mom-mom, and he knew that Jason had Bruce.

_Why go search out a parent who didn’t want you when you have a parent who does?_ He thought.

But he did not say this to Jason. He did not say to Jason that he wished that he could have what he had, because that would be cold and cruel and would also let on to the fact that his parents didn’t care about him.

And, whatever happened, he had to keep anyone from finding out beyond those who had to for him to get his medication. His parents would be so upset if the news got out. They had reputations to maintain, and they didn’t need the gossips of the city talking about their business.

Also, if the gossips knew, they would know, and Tim couldn’t bear them knowing.

“Good luck,” Tim said instead, “I’ll miss you so don’t be gone long.”

“Aw. I’ll miss you, too, little buddy. And I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just a jaunt over to Ethiopia and then I’m home.”

* * *

Tim’s parents came home the next morning.

They were as cold as they ever were, and his mother fixed him with a look.

“You haven’t grown,” she said.

Tim shifted uncomfortably. It was true, he had barely grown in the last three years. Just an inch when most other boys had grown six or seven, and he’d been short for his age when he was ten anyways. He was a tiny child, but he was strong. He’d learned about weightlifting and strength training exercises from Jay, who had been concerned about such a tiny child not being able to defend himself with his “sinewy arms.”

“The doctor said I am just a late bloomer,” he said, not saying that he was pretty sure that the medicine to stunt his Hanahaki was the cause.

“Hmph. We are hosting a dinner party at five tonight. Be dressed and ready by four-thirty. Not a hair out of place, Timothy.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Tim spent the day trying and failing to read _Sense and Sensibility_.

“Sorry, Jay,” he muttered as he finally gave in at around three forty-five, having only read three pages, “I just can’t do this. These characters are too flat.”

He rose from his bed, walked over to his desk where he’d set out his parent-approved dinner suit, and got dressed. The suit was comfortable enough- as any good tailored suit should be- but it still made his skin crawl.

He hated these parties. He was just an object on display, and the people around him would either ignore him or speak to him in irritating tones. His parents would brag and brag about his achievement all night, the only time he’d ever hear that they approved of them.

He coughed, sighing down at the handful of blood-spattered petals in his hand. He shoved them into the bio-hazard bin he’d taken to keeping tucked under his bed for when his parents came home as well as for the aftermath of the shots.

He hated that the medication required shots.

He’d probably spent too much time in his life wondering how it would work if he was sent to a universe where there wasn’t Hanahaki. It wasn’t uncommon for some random civilian to wind up wandering the multiverse, so maybe it could happen to him.

Maybe he could find a universe ~~where his parents loved him~~ where his lungs were clear.

“Timothy,” he heard his father yelled, “It’s four thirty-five. Get your ass down here.”

* * *

The dinner was just as horrible as they usually were.

The guests were shallow and rude, making horrible jokes about the people who didn’t fit their mould, humble bragging about the money they spent on charity, the things they owned, their children, their everything.

Tim was seriously considering gouging his own eyes out with the thousand-year-old jade hair comb sitting about two feet from him in its special display case. The display that he had set up, in some desperate hope that his parents might finally, finally look at him and think, ‘Ah, yes, our son. We love him.’

Tim wanted to laugh.

They still didn’t love him. That evidence was stark fucking clear in his lungs, in the petals, in the blood, in the fucking track marks on his arms from the illegal drugs he’d been buying from supervillains to be able to breathe.

_Shit_ , he thought, _Maybe I shouldn’t let my thoughts go to this in public_.

Jack laughed loudly, grating against the base of Tim’s neck, the negative feedback scratching along his nerves. He had to physically clench his muscles to keep from shuddering.

“I’ll raise you this, Dawson,” Jack said with a heavy layer of fake cheer, “Our Timothy is at the top of the honour roll again. Third year in a row, and before that he was only in second place. We’re very proud, can’t decide which of us he gets it from. Must be both of us.”

Tim wanted to stand up and scream at them, scream that they had no right to take any credit for any of his achievements.

_You’re never here. You never pay attention to me. I did that. I’ve done it all without you. You’ve forced me to, I never even had a choice. I wanted to have my parents, to have someone who loved me, and you took that away. Don’t you dare sit there and lay claim to any piece of me like it’s your right. You birthed me and then you left. You don’t get to doom me to lungfuls of flowers and then play happy family._

But Tim did not say any of this. Instead, he coughed, too quickly for him to raise his napkin.

Several people turned to him, and a woman gasped.

Tim looked down at his plate.

There lay a slightly wilted pink camellia and a stalk of rosemary, haloed on the white china by small droplets of blood, like gory dew.

“Er,” said Tim, “I’m not feeling well. May I please be excused?”

Wordlessly, his mother nodded.

Tim bolted, leaving behind the uncomfortable silence of the room. He ran all the way to his room, where he carefully took of his suit and hung it up, changed back into his pyjamas. He crawled under the covers of his bed, curled into a ball, and began to cry.

* * *

By the time his parents came up that night, Tim had stopped crying.

“You didn’t tell us you had Hanahaki,” Jack said. There almost seemed to be hurt in his voice, but Tim dismissed that thought as wishful thinking.

“I thought I had it under control,” he replied meekly.

“Well, clearly you didn’t,” Janet said, “We’re going to make an appointment for you to see a doctor about this. Do you know who the flowers are for?”

“A girl at school,” Tim lied easily.

Jack sighed.

“C’mon, kid, girls aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Not like that, at least- ow! What the fuck was that for, Janet?”

“Don’t be a sexist prig. Still, Timothy, this does seem like a bit much for a school yard crush.”

“I don’t control the extent of the Hanahaki,” Tim said glumly.

“…I suppose you do not,” she allowed, “Well, don’t worry. We’ll get the best doctor in the country for your surgery.”

Tim’s head shot up.

“S-surgery?” he said.

“Er, yes, Janet, we hadn’t agreed on the surgery yet,” Jack agreed, clearly uneasy.

“It’s the only way,” she said, “We can’t let him die from this.”

“He may get over it naturally.”

“He has full flowers, Jack, the chances of him ‘getting over it’ without switching his affections to someone else who does reciprocate are miniscule at best.”

Jack sighed.

“Okay, fine,” he said, “The surgery, then.”

Tim knew better than to ask if they would even consider his opinion about the matter. They hadn’t about the Lasik.

“Good night, Timothy,” his mother said, “I’ll send the maid up with some tea to help soothe your throat.”

“Good night, Mother.”

“Sleep well, son. And don’t worry. Even if this girl isn’t the one, I’m sure you’ll turn out to be a lady-killer like your pops. Don't hit me again, Janet, I'm just kidding.”

“Thank you, Father. Good night.”

The door closed behind them.

Tim had never felt more alone, not even when they were on the other side of the world and the house was empty.

The flowers rustled in his lungs.

* * *

His parents left that weekend, leaving behind a note on the counter telling him when his first visit with the surgeon would be.

Tim sighed and put it in the recycle.

“Fucking whatever,” he grumbled, “Stupid fucking surgery.”

He shuffled over to the couch with a bowl of dry cereal and turned on the television, eager to catch up on news of what he’d missed of Batman’s adventures while his parents were home.

“-ad news this morning for all of us this morning. Bruce Wayne issued a press release this morning announcing that his son, Jason, was kidnapped and murdered earlier this week. The funeral is set to take place next Friday,” the news anchor was saying.

Tim dropped his cereal.

… _Jason’s_ … _dead_?

* * *

Tim went through the next week feeling hollow and raw. Jason had been one of his closest friends- both as Jason Todd and Robin- and his favourite person. He kept sitting there and thinking ‘Oh, I should send this to Jason,’ and then breaking down again.

_Sense and Sensibility_ sat on his nightstand, judging him, until Tim hid it away in the massive Drake library, tucked away behind a shelf of untouched, outdated encyclopaedias.

Tim wasn’t going to get to go to the funeral.

There was no one to take him to it (Ivy and Harley had been arrested again, and Selina was in Italy robbing the Pope to cope with her grief), and the city bus didn’t go anywhere near the cemetery.

The doorbell rang.

Tim staggered down the stairs and, confused, opened the front door.

Doctor Kirk Langstorm stood there, shifting awkwardly on his feet and fiddling with his hands.

“Are you the ‘kitten’ Selina has sent me to collect and take to Jason Todd’s funeral?” He said.

“Uh,” Tim said articulately, “Maybe? Lemme get dressed. Would you, um, like tea?”

“Er, yes, do you have camomile?”

“…I think so?”

Tim made Man-Bat his tea and dashed upstairs, dressed quickly in one of his nicer black suits, and grabbed the enamel lapel pin Jason had once given him of Sherlock Holmes.

_(“It’s perfect for you,” Jason had said, “You’re a little genius bastard man. You’re Sherlock with a skateboard.”_

_“Thanks!”_

_“I’m too cool to be Watson.”_

_Tim scrunched up his nose._

_“You’re not cool at all. The only reason you’re not Watson is you don’t have a cool moustache or a gun.”_ )

“I’m ready to go,” he said to Man-Bat after he’d gone downstairs again.

They drove to the funeral service, and Tim got out.

He slipped into the back row of seats at the funeral, mostly ignored by the people there. He saw very few children from Jason’s school, most of the audience being other superheroes.

Dick wasn’t there.

Tim found it odd, but he was more focused on the casket and the man sitting in front of it, staring straight at it with a face of stone that looked like it may crack open at any minute, revealing the broken father beneath.

Bruce’s face was sallow and wan; there were dark bags beneath his eyes, which were red and swollen from crying. His hair and suit were perfect, a polished, perfected façade for the reporters. Even in grief he could not be anything but perfect, least the press tear him to shreds for looking anything less. 

After the service, Tim made his way to the front, got in line to wait to talk to Bruce.

A few minutes later, he stood in front of the man. Tim had been the last in the line, and most of the other guests were trickling out of the area.

“H-hello, Mr. Wayne. I’m really sorry about Jason,” Tim said, nervous.

Bruce stared at him with dead eyes.

“You were friends with Jay, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. He gave me this pin! And, um. He loaned me _Sense and Sensibility_. I thought you might like it back.”

Tim extended the book. Bruce took it, cracked open the cover, and smiled at Jason’s signature on the inside. Jason had taken great care with his signature, practicing calligraphy for months to perfect it before he ever signed the books.

“Have you read it?” He said.

“N-no.”

“Keep it,” Bruce said, “Until you finish it. Then come back, and you can borrow one of the others. If you want.”

“Okay!” Tim said, “Sure! That sounds great.”

Bruce nodded.

“Jason would want these books read,” he murmured, “…I’m half tempted to donate them, but…not yet. Maybe someday. I’m not ready. I’m still half convinced he’ll walk back in the door one day, pick up the book he left on his nightstand, and go back to taking notes about it. You know, he never wrote his notes in the books. He had notebooks, just full of notes. He loved the books too much to damage them.”

Tim nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Jason was cool like that.”

* * *

A couple months later, Tim snuck out again. He hadn’t been sneaking out much after he heard about Jason, after his parents found out about the Hanahaki, but he decided to try.

He was crouched behind a dumpster as he watched Batman stalk towards a mugger, camera at the ready.

But there was something _wrong_ about Batman. He was being too aggressive, too violent on the criminals. Tim had never seen him this bad.

He was starting to put a little bit more stock in the internet rumour that Batman had been hauled off from killing the Joker by Superman.

He watched as Bruce pummelled the mugger again and again and again, finally stepping back and stalking off into the night, leaving the man a bloody pulp on the grimy alley floor.

Tim skittered out of his hiding place and over to the man, took in the damage, and pulled out his cell phone to call an ambulance. Once done, he took off into the night, headed home.

_Batman is losing control,_ he thought, _I have to find a way to stop him. For Jason. For Gotham._

* * *

Tim inhaled shakily before he knocked on the door to Wayne Manor.

Alfred opened it a couple minutes later, smiling faintly at the boy.

“Hello, Mr. Drake, are you here to return Master Jason’s book?”

“No,” Tim said, “I’m here to see Batman.”

Alfred froze.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied cautiously.

“I know Mr. Wayne is Batman. I know Jason and Dick were Robin.”

Alfred stared at him.

“I think,” he said, seeming a bit shocked, “That you had better come into the house.”

Tim was ushered up to the study, where Bruce sat behind a desk. The door slammed shut behind him.

“Don’t bother trying to convince me you’re not Batman,” Tim exclaimed, “I’ve been following you around Gotham for years. I’m sure. I saw Dick do a quadruple summersault as Robin and only he can do that. So there. Also, you make terrible bat puns at galas sometimes.”

“The dad jokes betrayed me?” Bruce whispered, before shaking his head and straightening up.

“You need a Robin,” Tim said.

“What? No. No! Fucking hell, no. Not again. Not after Jason. Not ever again.”

“You do! Batman needs a Robin!”

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sit down, Timothy,” he said.

Tim sat.

“Batman does not need a Robin,” Bruce said, “I am a grown man, and I do not need a child to help me catch criminals.”

“B-but-”

“Nothing. I understand your concern, but I do not share it. And…stay out of the streets, Tim. Gotham is too dangerous at night for children.”

Tim slunk out of Wayne Manor and back to his house.

_Fine_ , he thought, _Get fucked, Bruce, I’ve got to go get Dick._

* * *

Dick refused to return to Robin.

“Look, kid,” he said sympathetically, “I get that Bats is out of line, but I’m not going back to being a sidekick. I moved on from that. I’ve got my own city, my own responsibilities. My own team. I’ll go talk to him, but I’m not going back to Robin ever again.”

“But Batman needs a Robin,” Tim pleaded.

Dick scoffed.

“ _Batman_ doesn’t need a Robin. He needs family. _Gotham_ needs a Robin. And Gotham won’t get one until Batman pulls his goddamn head out of his ass and learns to be a team player.”

“No, he does, he does need a Robin. He’s losing control.” 

“Then _you_ be his Robin,” Dick grumbled.

Tim inhaled sharply, stirring the stems in his lungs.

“Look, Tim, you seem like a good guy. And you’re a bright kid. Take my advice and get yourself out of this shit right now, okay? I’ll go back and help him, as Nightwing, but I’ll help him out. You…you just gotta stay out of this.” 

“But, I-”

“Trust me. It’s better for you if you do.”

* * *

Tim _loved_ being Robin.

Okay, so he’d only been Robin for like thirty minutes, and twenty-five of those were in the car, but still! He felt like he had wings. The flowers in his lungs weren’t bothering him for the first time in _years_. It felt good. It felt great. He never wanted it to end ever again.

_But it will end_ , the nasty little voice in the back of his head whispered, _your own parents don't love you, don't want you. Why on Earth would Batman want you? You're just a kid. A dumb, useless little kid with no talent._

Tim shoved that voice down. No point in listening to that voice when he had things to do.

He managed to rescue Bruce and Dick, plant the tracker on Two-Face.

Bruce didn't seem impressed.

Tim's heart sank as he looked at him, ready to beg and plead to be allowed to be Robin. To be allowed to keep the wings that kept his mind off the flowers.

"Okay," Bruce said, "You can be Robin."

Tim's face burst open with a smile. And, ever so slightly, the flowers in his lungs began to wither and die.

* * *

He was in Hong Kong, now, and he was beginning to think that this training mission had gotten a little bit out of hand.

"Choose again," Shiva ordered him.

"I won't fight murderers by becoming one," he replied, stubbornly clenching his hands tighter around the bo staff he'd picked, "I've taken a pledge to my mentor and myself that I won't kill. Even to save my life."

"How white of you," she snarked, "how Christian of you."

"I'm Jewish," Tim protested.

She sighed.

"You are very argumentative, little bird," she said.

"Not usually," Tim grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow at him and Tim grinned back sheepishly.

"You also fight oddly. As if you are struggling to breathe."

"Well, I am. I've got Hanahaki."

"Hm. I see. Well, no matter. We will simply have to teach you how to fight around it."

"You know how to do that?" he blurted.

"I am the most dangerous woman alive, little bird. Of course I do."

* * *

When Tim returned to Gotham, he was excited about life.

Tim liked the feeling of being excited about life.

Sure, his mother was dead and his father was in a coma. Those things both sucked. But Batman wanted him to be Robin. Batman had moved him into his house! Tim! He moved Tim into his house willingly even after Tim told him he had plenty of people to watch him at his own house! He _wanted_ Tim to live with him.

It was so _weird_.

And Dick Grayson was talking to him voluntarily. And hanging out with him. Like, coming over to ask him about his day.

He wasn't sure what kind of horrible god was in charge of dangling whatever he wanted in front of him in his dreams, but he hoped to never wake up.

"Whatcha thinkin' about there, bud?" Dick asked when he found Tim sitting by one of his favourite gargoyles one day.

"How awful it's gonna be to wake up from this dream," Tim replied.

"This isn't a dream."

"That sounds like something a dream would say."

"Well, you know what they say," Dick said as he sat down next to him, "Funny how your feet in dreams never touch the Earth."

"Oh no," Tim moaned, "No, don't start singing."

"Too late," Bruce said over the comm line.

"Spare a little candle, save some light for me, figures up ahead, moving in the trees. White skin, in linen, perfume on my wrist, and the full moon that hangs over...these dreams in the mist," Dick sang.

"Batman, stop him!" Tim yelled.

Dick hopped onto the gargoyle.

"These dreams," he belted, "Go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life. These dreams, that sleep when it's cold outside. Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away." 

"Nightwing, contain yourself." 

Dick just kept singing. 

"Is it cloak and dagger, could it be spring or fall? I walk without a cut through a stained-glass wall. Weaker in my eyesight, candle in my grip, and words that have no form, falling from my lips." 

At this point Bruce had joined them on the rooftop.

_Finally_ , Tim thought, _a voice of reason_.

Bruce's lips twitched as he opened his mouth.

“These dreams," he and Dick both sang, "go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life. These dreams, that sleep when it's cold outside. Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away. There's something out there I can't resist. I need to hide away from the pain. There's something out there I can't resist."

Tim sighed, gave up, and joined in.

"The sweetest song is silence that I've ever heard. Funny how your feet in dreams never touch the earth. In a wood full of princes, freedom is a kiss, but the prince hides his face, from dreams in the mist."

At this point Catwoman, who was standing on the rooftop across the street, decided to join in.

"These dreams go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life. These dreams, that sleep when it's cold outside. Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away. These dreams go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life. These dreams, that sleep when it's cold outside. Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away."

Once they finished, an old woman opened her apartment window.

"Quit your fucking wailing," she yelled, "You lot all fucking suck at singing."

They looked at each other and laughed, and Tim's flowers withered a little again.

* * *

The next few months passed in a similar manner. For once in his life, Tim woke up every morning happy. He didn't spend hours wallowing in loneliness. Wayne Manor wasn't lively, per se, but it didn't yet have the creepy, tomb-like air that Drake Manor did in the nights.

And one day Tim realised that his flowers were gone.

His father hadn't woken up yet, and with his mother being dead he could reasonably rule out the possibility of either of them suddenly realising that they really did love their son.

Tim's heart sunk. There was only one other possibility.

Tim didn't love them anymore.

He kept this discovery to himself (not that there was really anyone to tell).

_Maybe it's better this way. Maybe this way I can move on. And maybe...maybe Bruce will like me enough to keep me around forever if Dad doesn't pull through? No, stupid, it wouldn't be because he likes you. You know too much now. He has to keep you._

The next day, Tim figured it didn't much matter if Bruce liked him enough to keep him or not. The hospital had called. Jack was awake.

* * *

It was awkward, seeing his father awake again now that Tim was faced with the horrible fact that, for the first time in his life, Tim's lungs were free.

Especially because now Jack was trying.

He'd never tried particularly hard before.

It was weird, to Tim. On some level, he appreciated that Jack seemed now to want to do things with him. On another, he wished those things were things he actually cared about. On another, he wanted to keep being Robin, and having a father who suddenly cared about what he was doing with his free time was really throwing a wrench in those plans.

And he'd started doubting his own conclusions.

Jack showed no signs of Hanahaki, and Tim's hadn't returned.

So this left Tim to conclude that either Tim really did love Jack and Jack really did love him, or neither of them truly loved each other and that Jack was faking all of this.

It made Tim want to have a mental breakdown.

And what made it worse was that he had Bruce. And Bruce was…better. Bruce asked him about his hobbies. Bruce listened when he talked and remembered things he said and only got a little mad when Tim did something really dumb, like go after a big bad without backup or not tell him before going to space, and even then Bruce was more likely to gently rebuke him or start crying.

Tim was trying to be better about that stuff. He knew it reminded Bruce of Jason. And Tim felt weird about reminding Bruce of Jason. He was pretty sure that that might be some kind of insult to Jason.

So he just kept on working, being Robin in the evenings and dodging Jack's attempts to hang out with him. And Bruce was being great. He gave Tim a list of excuses for Jack, helped him with his homework, and gave him the night off when he looked too tired.

And he always bought the right flavour of Zesti. Jack bought him fucking Soder.

Tim _hated_ Soder.

And, sure, it was minor shit, but Tim wasn't used to the minor shit. Or the major shit. Or, like, any of it.

So he kept up the double life, and everything was going okay.

And then Jack found out. And he pulled a gun on Bruce.

It had been about a week, and Tim still hadn't stopped feeling guilty about that. Bad enough that Bruce had been threatened, bad enough it was in front of his family (and over someone as minor as Tim), but...Tim knew how Bruce was about guns. He always hesitated a half second when he was confronted with one of the other vigilantes around. Tim's cursory analysis was PTSD.

And Tim hadn't talked to any of his friends. Jack had taken all his technology and, worst of all, his cameras. And now he was out on a date and Tim was locked in his room.

There was a knock on his window.

Tim ran over to see Bruce crouching on his windowsill. Gleefully, he yanked opened the window. Bruce climbed in, made sure to tug his cape through before Tim closed it again.

"Hi, Bruce!" Tim said.

"Hello, Tim," Bruce intoned, "Are you well? You didn't answer Dick and he was concerned."

"I'm good! Dad took my phone and all my stuff. I think he's mad at me."

"I...see. That's not...good. I need to be able to contact you at all times."

"You do?"

"Yes. Because, uh, the enemies from being Robin. If they find out your identity I must be able to contact you."

"Oh. That makes sense!"

"Here," Bruce said, and he pulled a phone out of his utility belt, "Take this. Keep it hidden. I trust you know best how to do that."

Tim nodded.

"I'll keep it hidden. And text Dick proof of life."

"Excellent. And...call me if you need anything, Tim. Even if it's just to talk."

"Uh...sure, Bruce. I will," Tim replied, confused as to why he would need to.

Bruce clasped his shoulder.

"Good," he said, "That's good, s-Tim."

* * *

After Jack died and Tim moved in with Bruce again, things went smoothly for a while. And then...then the rest of the year from hell happened.

And, the thing was, Tim knew he wasn't doing well. Tim knew he wasn't doing well before Bruce even died. He knew he was suicidal. And he knew that was bad. He wasn't an idiot. But there...there wasn't much he could do. What was he supposed to do, talk to a civilian therapist? And he wasn't exactly comfortable bringing this stuff to anyone. Except maybe Dick. And he definitely didn't want to bring it to Bruce. Bruce would yank him out of Robin at the speed of light. And Tim couldn't lose Robin. And neither could Bruce. He was decently sure that the only reason Bruce took him in was for Robin, so Tim couldn't risk that.

Tim had been good for his parents by being their heir. Tim was good for Bruce by being his Robin.

But…but then, Bruce died.

And Tim was lost.

Without Bruce, there was no purpose. And Bruce said no one should be Batman.

Which really meant Bruce was a fucking idiot. Because Gotham needed Batman like Batman needed Robin.

Probably not as bad as Tim needed Robin, though. 

* * *

Tim stared at Damian in his Robin costume.

He wasn’t even angry. Well, very distantly, behind the glass wall that most of his emotions had been locked behind for the past year, he was angry. And sad. And a lot betrayed.

But mostly? Mostly, Tim was numb.

“You want me to back off?” he snarled at Dick, “Fine.”

He stalked off to his room, clean and sterile as he’d been keeping it in recent months. Tim found he no longer had the energy to make a mess.

Once he was done pitching his kit, he sat down, staring emptily at his poster-covered walls.

“Fuck,” he said, “ _Fuck_.”

His hands were shaking, with rage or fear or grief, he couldn’t tell. Possibly it was some bastard child of them all.

He inhaled, steadfastly ignoring the strange feeling in his lungs.

“Alright, Tim. Take stock. An overview. Tim needs an overview. A plan? I’m the plan guy. So…lay out all the evidence. Draw your conclusions. Make your plan. Enact your plan. Easy.

“Most of my allies in Gotham and elsewhere do not believe Bruce is alive or suspect I am compromised. Or both. If Cassie does not believe that I am in my right mind, then she may take steps to prevent me from going on this mission, including but not limited to reporting me to others. It’s…well it’s certainly possible I could be locked up until I have been deemed suitably sane. Which is…not ideal. I don’t have that kind of time. Bruce doesn’t have that kind of time.

“…I’m going to have to go looking for him. But it could get messy. And I’m not Robin…I need a new alias. One preferably less than pristine. I suspect getting Bruce back may require me doing some, ah, morally grey things. Alright. Then, uh…figure out where Bruce is, I guess.

“I…fuck it. I’m gonna have to burn my bridges here. I mean…not that I’m gonna kill anyone. I think. I hope. But…probably rude of me to link my less than savoury behaviour to Batman. Unlike Jason, I have manners. Oh, wait, Jason! Red Robin was one of his old names, and it doesn’t have a particularly stellar history.

“Okay, so I use Red Robin. I get out and I go to, uh…track down the clues. That’s at least a direction.”

He sighed and forced himself to stand. He walked over to the closet and pulled out one of the steamer trunks he kept back there that he was pretty sure Bruce and Alfred had thought were his porn stash or just other shit he wasn’t keen on them finding. They had always been left alone by them, save for Alfred dusting off the exteriors.

Tim was now very grateful for this, because had they opened the trunks, they would have found Tim’s secret go bag and nothing else.

He was glad, in a way, that Bruce wasn’t here. Because Bruce would have been upset to know that Tim had never felt secure in his house. And Tim wouldn’t have wanted to upset Bruce. Because it wasn’t a Bruce thing. Tim was the cuckoo chick who had forced his way into the robin’s nest. They’d tried to welcome him, to make him more comfortable in their family, but Tim had always known deep down that no one could truly want him. He’d spent way more than his life coughing up the evidence.

_But, God_ , he thought as he began to pack Tim Drake-Wayne away, _it was so nice to pretend I was wanted. Even if it didn’t last_.

He coughed.

* * *

Tim was traveling with assassins now.

Bruce was going to _kill_ him.

Also, his Hanahaki was back in earnest.

No flower petals had emerged yet, but he was too familiar with the press of foliage against his lungs to not know what was going on.

He coughed again, curled up in a ball in the seat.

Z sent him a worried look.

“You alright there?” He asked.

“No,” Tim said, miserable.

Pru groaned.

“Fuck, now we have to find you a doctor?”

“No doctors. It’s Hanahaki. I can deal with it.”

The room fell silent.

“Who’s the broad?” asked Pru.

Tim laughed bitterly.

“No broad. I’m gay. Well, not that it’s a man, either. Er…not in that way. It’s my brother.”

“Your brother?” Owens asked.

Tim shrugged.

“He took Robin,” he said.

“F,” said Z.

“Whatta ya flowers look like?” Pru asked, “Ow! The fuck, Owens?”

“That’s rude,” Owens said.

“I don’t mind. I, uh…I dunno yet. I haven’t started coughing up the flowers. But I know it’s Hanahaki. I’ve had it before.”

“You’re pretty young to have had it twice,” Z said.

“Yeah, well. Can’t force your parents to love you.”

“A-fucking-men to that,” Pru said.

“You guys are so grimdark,” said Z, “See a therapist.”

“Ah, yes, let me just find a therapist wandering in all this fucking sand. Maybe it’s covered by my insurance,” Tim snarked.

“I want to see your flowers,” Pru said, “I always thought if I had Hanahaki that I would take the flowers I coughed up and send ‘em in like a gory flowery arrangement to the fuckass who rejected me.”

“We’re all very grateful you’ve never had Hanahaki,” Owens muttered, “Ow! Don’t fucking hit me!”

* * *

“Hello, Timothy,” Ra’s said over the comm unit.

“Go fuck yourself,” Tim replied half-heartedly.

“My assassins tell me that you have Hanahaki. This is very unfortunate, Timothy, I wish you had informed me of this yourself so that I could do something about it.”

“I’m not doing jack diddly fuck about it, so shove it.”

“Such rudeness in reply to my concern. No wonder you’ve been spurned.”

“Fuck. You,” Tim snarled. He leapt up from the bed in his hotel room as if he could fight Ra’s then and there for the insult.

“Now, now, Timothy, calm yourself. Although…now you have awakened my curiosity. Why would you not have your flowers removed?”

Tim sagged back down again.

“Not exactly easy to cut out all memories of family,” he muttered.

_God, why am I saying this to Ra’s? Besides the fact that I haven’t had anyone to really talk to about it…ah, that’s why_.

“I see. Did my nuisance of a grandson cause problems between yourself and your brother?”

“…yes.”

“Would you like me to remove him for you?”

And, god, Tim was so tempted to agree, to let Ra’s steal Damian off and give Tim his brother, his father, his title, his _life_ back.

But that would mean subjecting Damian to whatever Ra’s had planned for him, and that was unlikely to be a kind fate.

“No,” Tim said, “I think I’m good, actually. I have other family besides Dick.”

The lie and the flowers were bitter on his tongue.

* * *

Tim woke up in a cave, and his lungs felt almost as bad as his stab wound.

He couldn’t believe he was alive- and without the aid of the pit, allegedly, though he was still suspicious- and the trio of assassins who had trailed him throughout the known world were, too. They had needed the assistance of the pit, but they didn’t seem to be having any side effects.

“This sucks,” Tim said.

The trio groaned.

“Understatement of the year,” muttered Z.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Tam said faintly, “But I’m inclined to agree with you all.”

“Uh…” replied Tim.

“I just…what are you? Are you some kind of Doctor Mid-Nite knock off?”

Tim let out a feral noise of rage.

“I’m Red Robin! Why does no one recognise me? J-Red Hood used this suit before, why is everyone pretending they don’t recognise it?”

“Because no one recognises it,” Pru said bluntly, “So, what are we going to do?”

“Take down the Council of Spiders and find Batman,” Tim said.

“He says it’s like it’s so simple and easy,” Owens muttered.

“It is,” Tim insisted, “Anything’s achievable with a good plan and good operatives. I have good operatives, and I am pretty good at making plans. We’ll be okay.”

He coughed.

A sprig of lavender fell out.

“Well,” Tim amended as they all stared at it, “Maybe you guys will be okay. I probably won’t.”

* * *

After returning from Gotham after the incident with the Black Lanterns, Tim booked an appointment with a League doctor.

Seeing Dick, talking to Dick, seeing Damian in the Robin costume…it had stirred the flowers in his lungs. They were worse now. So, so much worse. There was blood on the blossoms already.

Tim really wasn’t sure he wanted to examine the fact that his Hanahaki was worse the second time around, with someone who he wasn’t even related to, rather than with his parents.

“My Hanahaki has returned,” he said to the doctor, “I need to get back on growth stoppers. I’ve been on one before. Deterex.”

The doctor examined the paperwork he was holding.

“I cannot prescribe you any of the class of drugs that Deterex belongs to. They suppress the immune system in the process of supressing the Hanahaki, and with your asplenia that would be incredibly dangerous and unethical.”

Tim stared at the doctor.

“You work for the League of Assassins,” he said incredulously, “and you’re concerned about ethics?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“My master does not wish harm to come to you.”

“But…the ethics?”

“I am a physician, not an assassin.”

“I-uh-huh-hm. I don’t know how I feel about this.”

The doctor ignored him in favour of looking at his paperwork again.

“You’re also going to need some supplements,” he said.

“Why?”

“The flowers are consuming excess nutrients. Did you not notice this the last time?”

“Uh…could that maybe, possibly, kinda, uhm, result in your growth being stunted?”

The doctor sighed.

“You didn’t take anything,” he grumbled, “You took Deterex while having Hanahaki without taking any sort of supplement, and you are wondering if this could have stunted your growth.”

“I’m going to take this as a yes,” Tim said.

“I’m shocked Batman let you leave the cave ever. This is ridiculous.”

“Did I do any irreperable damage to any organs?”

“Other than the missing spleen? I don’t believe so, but I’m ordering a full panel of tests. You’re not leaving here for a few hours.”

“Will you put on a movie?” 

The doctor stared at him.

“What?”

“Whenever I have to be conscious for long term procedures Batman lets me watch a movie,” Tim said.

“Fine. Fine, you can watch a movie.”

“Thank you. I want to watch _Finding Nemo_.”

“Fucking teenagers,” he caught the doctor muttering, “Can’t the Master make friends his own age?”

* * *

Ra’s summoned Tim for dinner that night.

He also sent an outfit with the messenger. Tight black dress pants, a white dress shirt, and…the jacket.

It was black wool satin, embroidered all over in black silk with Ra’s crest. The lapel bore embroidery of sprigs of lavender.

The lavender flowers in his lungs rustled as he exhaled shakily.

“So, he’s up to something,” Tim grumbled.

He put the suit on, uncomfortably noting that it was perfectly tailored.

“So, Ra’s is going from eccentric to fucking creepy.”

Tim followed the messenger to a small dining room high in the terrace that made up Ra’s’ palace. It was, surprisingly to Tim, not a palace covered in gold, gems, and statues. It was made of rich wood and draped with luxurious fabric and lush furnishings, with beautiful gardens and water features and barely perceptible assassins hidden in the shadows.

Loathe as he was to admit it, it was the sort of place that Tim would love to live. Minus the supervillain. 

Ra’s was seated at a table spread with food that Tim did not recognize, candles flickering in the room and a fireplace crackling away on the other side. The room was cosy.

It put Tim on edge.

He sat down across from Ra’s, keeping an eye out for any attackers hidden in the dark of the room.

“Hello, Timothy. So glad you could join me tonight.”

“…kinda don’t have a choice, my dude.”

“Please, eat. I have made certain that none of this food contains anything you are allergic or sensitive to.”

Tim paused as he reached for the steamed buns.

“How do you know that?” He asked, suspicious.

Ra’s scoffed as he reached for cup of rice wine.

“ _Timothy_ ,” he said, “Do you not think I had a complete workup of you done?”

“Of course you did,” Tim grumbled.

“I am incapable of being anything other than myself. I would not be here today if I were not myself.”

“You also wouldn’t be here without the world’s greenest tub juice, so that’s not necessarily a stellar mark in your favour,” Tim pointed out.

Ra’s laughed.

“You are far too blunt, Timothy.”

Tim didn’t reply, too focused on the steamed buns and trying to see if there were assassins on the roof.

“Now, you are probably wondering why I’ve requested your presence for dinner tonight.”

“I thought it was just for the pleasure of my company.”

“As wonderful as your company is, I have not called you for that reason alone. I have, of course, been informed of your Hanahaki.”

“Wow. I never would have guessed,” Tim replied as he gestured at the lavender embroidery.

“Hm. Now, Timothy, if I may presume to inquire, is this Hanahaki perhaps related to your family?”

“Trying to pretend to be out of the loop is a bad look on you, Ra’s.”

Ra’s laughed.

“As ever, you are your master’s student. I have found your progress on the tasks that I have assigned to you to be exemplary. Now, seeing as you have…severed ties with Gotham, as it were, I would like to offer you an opportunity.”

“I haven’t severed ties with _all_ of Gotham,” Tim said stubbornly, “I may not be on speaking terms with any Bats not lost in the time sauce, but I’m not giving up on my city.”

“Well, do you not think that you could do better by your city with my backing?”

“Sure. If by ‘better’ you mean ‘let it turn into a cult.’”

“I am insulted by your insinuation.”

“Face it, Ra’s, you’re a cult leader.”

“I am not. I am nothing like that peon Charles Manson.”

“That’s what the government wants you to think.”

“Wha-I- Timothy, that does not make any sense.”

Tim slurped some miso soup while staring Ra’s dead in the eye. The villain seemed distinctly unsettled.

“Thank you, J.J. Bittenbinder,” Tim muttered.

“…what?”

Tim picked up a napkin and threw it at Ra’s’ head.

“Throw them off their rhythm,” he said.

“You are an exceptionally strange creature,” Ra’s muttered.

“That’s what the government wants you to think.”

“Desist.”

“That’s not very cash money of you.”

“I meant it, Timothy.”

Tim dabbed.

Ra’s had a vein bulging out of his forehead.

Tim counted it as a win.

* * *

After Bruce returned, things were…weird.

He still wasn’t talking to Dick. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to Dick. Every time he had to talk to him on patrol his eyes watered from the overwhelming smell of lavender.

Damian was just…no. Fuck that twerp and fuck the ridiculous tansy flowers that were growing in Tim’s lungs without his permission.

Duke was okay. Tim hadn’t spent much time around him, but the purple hyacinth he started hacking up once they’d first started hanging out told him that he, at least, had definitely accepted Duke as his family.

Cass had been hard to get a hold of after she moved to Hong Kong. He’d spoken to her once or twice since. He loved Cass, but…it was hard to feel like he mattered to her when most of the time he messaged her he got left on read, and white clover spilled from his lips while he waited for her to reply.

Alfred…Alfred’s flowers had made Tim cry, when they first appeared. Alfred had reached out when Tim returned Bruce to them, but Tim hadn’t picked up. Alfred was a good person, and he’d probably try to get Tim back to the Manor out of pity for him. And Tim couldn’t burden Alfred with the trials of trying to fit square peg Tim into a family with no space. Still, the prickly spines of the aloe and the red flowers that accompanied them were painful. Alfred was so solid. It seemed impossible that him of all people, could stop loving Tim, and yet…

As horrible as it felt to admit, Bruce’s Black-Eyed Susan’s had been neither a shock nor a welcome visitor. He’d never shaken the haunting feeling that Bruce didn’t really want to adopt him and that he’d only adopted him because of Robin. And the flowers had been the worst kind of confirmation. They’d first emerged after the fallout from Tim testing Captain Boomerang. After Bruce stalked off, Tim had stayed, gasping for breath as he leaned against a vent. He'd coughed up the first of those yellow petals there, and he'd coughed up even more when he'd finally made it home to cry. 

The only member of the family he was talking to with any regularity was Jason, who had approached him on patrol one night, apologised for his behaviour, and asked for Tim’s help on a case.

_Figures_ , Tim thought, _I get an apology when they need me to be useful_.

He still talked to Jason, though, as he was the only Gotham-based vigilante he was on halfway decent terms with. Jason had proven himself to be reliable backup on the couple of occasions he needed it and had a better ear on the streets than Tim did, so he figured he could keep Jason around. He ignored the pretty red rhododendrons that seemed to follow in the wake of Jason’s presence.

All things considered, he was pretty sure he should leave Gotham. There was no welcome hearth for him there anymore, and most of those he still thought of as family clearly didn’t reciprocate the feeling.

But still something kept him there. A lingering hope, a protesting voice in the back of his skull that maybe the flowers were wrong, a lack of willingness to drag himself into the unfamiliar world to die.

He made the preparations to have to leave, aware that he may have to make a speedy exit if someone found out or if he took a turn for the worst. He didn’t want to die surrounded by lies of false love and devotion.

Tim was really starting to hate lying.

* * *

Tim was in the Batcave.

It was rare, now, that he was. At one point in time, it had been one of his favourite places in the world. Now there were mostly echoes of bad memories and reminders that he wasn’t good enough to be son or brother or _Robin_.

But he needed access to one of Bruce’s machines, and so he had asked to come to the Batcave.

Bruce had seemed startled when he asked before agreeing.

_Maybe I was supposed to just figure out that I wasn’t supposed to return here_ , Tim thought, _maybe Bruce was testing me and I failed_. 

He was jammed in the corner by the machine he was using, cowl still on, keys to the RedBird in hand so he could flee as soon as the analysis would allow.

This was, of course, the time that Dick fucking Grayson, professional ruiner of Tim’s plans- _and life_ , he thought bitterly- decided to throw a spanner in the works.

“Tim,” he yelled, vaulting over from the stairs, “How are you, little brother? It’s been too long since I’ve seen you around.”

“I’m fine,” Tim ground out, eyes pointedly fixed on the clock of the machine.

Dick paused, eyed Tim with his unsettlingly perceptive gaze.

“You can tell me if there’s something wrong, you know.”

Tim snorted.

“Sure,” he snarked.

“Okay, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Tim shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that crap, something’s clearly wrong. What’s happening? You can talk to me.”

“Can I?”

Dick grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to see his face. Tim stared resolutely over Dick’s shoulder.

“Tim, please. Talk to me. I need to know what’s wrong.”

“Sure you do,” Tim snarked, “Have to write something on the admissions paperwork for whatever psych ward you want to drop me in, don’t you?”

Dick dropped his hand and took a step back, shock written into every feature.

“Tim…”

“Sorry, was that too on the nose for you, _big brother_?”

“Look, Tim, I’m sorry about that. It’s just, you were spouting nonsense, so I-”

“When is Drake not spouting nonsense?” Damian scoffed, having entered the room.

“Go fuck yourself, demon spawn.”

“Tim!” Dick exclaimed, “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Right. Because precious baby Damian can talk to me however he likes, hell, he can shove me off things and cut my grapple line, but I’m not allowed to be rude to him right the fuck back? Shove it up your ass.”

“That’s not-”

The alarm went off on Tim’s analysis, cutting Dick off. Tim grabbed the sample and the results page and booked it, barely dodged Dick’s attempt to grab him as he ran towards the Redbird.

Once he’d made it safely back to his perch, not a single message from Dick on any of his lines of communication waiting for him, he sighed, pulled off the cowl, and ran a hand through his hair.

He’d been forcing himself to stay in Gotham with hope, hope that his family would realise the distance between them and make an effort to close it.

“God,” Tim said, “They see it, don’t they? Dick’s certainly noticed it, and if he has…so has Bruce. And if Bruce hasn’t said something…fucking hell. They don’t give two shits about me, do they?”

The car didn’t answer him. His phone dinged.

It was a message from Bruce.

Not a mention of the fight with Damian. Not a mention of Tim. Just a picture of the open analysis machine and a caption that read “please be more careful with the equipment.”

Tim tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

“Message fucking received,” he muttered, “Guess I leave Gotham for good tomorrow.”

* * *

A few days later, Jason approached Bruce in the cave.

“Do you know where Tim is?” he asked hesitantly, “I haven’t seen him around Gotham these past few days.”

“He logged himself as away in the computer system. I assumed he was with the Titans,” Bruce replied.

“B, he hasn’t worked with the Titans in a while.”

“I know. He’d mentioned wanting to reconnect when last we spoke. I assumed he was doing that. It’d be a good thing. He doesn’t seem to have very many friends anymore.”

The screen lit up with a call from Titans Tower.

“See? Probably him checking in with me,” Bruce said as he answered.

Jason looked sceptical.

The screen flickered and revealed Kon-El staring at them, a concerned expression on his face.

“Have you heard from Tim?” he asked, “I haven’t been able to get a hold of him for a couple days now.”

Bruce frowned.

“No. We thought he was with you.”

“Oh,” said Kon, “Well, he isn’t.”

“Thank you, Superboy, I had gathered that.”

“If he’s not here and he’s not there, where is he?” Jason asked.

“Maybe he’s on an away mission?” Kon suggested.

“He did not complete the proper away mission information sheet,” Bruce muttered.

“Maybe he said ‘fuck this’ to your draconian rules and ditched without doing that?”

“Tim designed the away mission information sheet on his own accord, Jason.”

“Wow. What a little dweeb.”

“Be nice, Jay. We’ll start looking for him here, Superboy, and keep in contact with you regarding our progress. Are…are you able to hear his heartbeat?”

Kon shook his head.

“I don’t think that really means anything, though,” he said, “He figured out how to block me from doing it years ago and he does it a _lot_. So he might just not want me to find him.”

Bruce nodded.

“Unfortunately that sounds like him. We will be in touch.”

Bruce hung up and collapsed back into his chair.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, “Shit.”

Jason could see that he was shaking.

“…you okay?” he asked.

Bruce put his head in his hands.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Jay-lad.”

“…why?”

“You know what happened the last time one of my sons disappeared without a word.”

Jason flinched.

“I didn’t think it affected you…like this,” he murmured.

Bruce rose and walked over to Jason, set his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Jay,” he said gently, “You are my son. Your death was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, including the death of my parents. It destroyed my world. I was…very unstable.”

“Stable enough to take in Tim.”

“Ah, yes, we…never told you the details of Tim’s appearance, did we?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce sighed.

“Let’s get in the Batmobile. I’ll tell you on the way to his apartment.”

Jason sat in the passenger’s seat, fiddling with a tire pressure gauge he’d found in the cupholder as Bruce guided the car out the backroads of the estate. It was nostalgic in a way that things hadn’t been between the two of them for a long, long time.

“I didn’t find Tim,” Bruce said, “Hell, I only knew he existed on the barest of levels because he had been friends with you.”

Jason jerked his head up.

“He was?”

“Yep. You two ran around the galas together when you were boys, talking about books.”

“Oh. So Tim was…that Tim.”

“I thought you’d put that together. Would’ve told you, otherwise.”

“Nah. Tim was…different then.”

Bruce chuckled.

“He was, wasn’t he? After you died, he showed up at the Manor and demanded to be Robin. He’d seen that I was unstable and wanted to reach out and help.”

“And you just let him?”

“No. I told him no.”

“Wait, so how’d he wind up Robin?”

“He convinced Alfred to let him use on of your old backup suits and saved Dick and I’s life from Harvey. Clearly he wasn’t about to back down easy, so I took him under my wing. Made him train with experts who I trained under. But, of course, being Tim, he went a bit overboard.”

“How do you go overboard with training?”

“He started chasing King Snake around with Lady Shiva and somehow got her to train him.”

Jason stared at Bruce.

“Shiva?” he asked.

“Yes,” Bruce replied, looking distinctly pained, “She likes him. You can find them bantering sometimes.”

“Wow. Shit. Shiva? Really?”

“Tim has always been frightfully self-directed. I should have known letting him live by himself was a bad idea.”

“…you think he left voluntarily, don’t you?”

Bruce stayed silent as he pulled into Tim’s garage and parked. Once he’d turned the car off, he sighed.

“After Tim’s father died, he invented a fake uncle so he’d be able to live by himself in Bludhaven without me thinking anything was wrong. Just because he didn’t want to burden the family with himself. He’s always been afraid to get close to people just in case they leave him. Like I…well, he and I are more alike than I’d like for him. I guess I just stupidly thought that Tim moving out was a sign that he’d learn that no matter how far afield he flew, I’d still care about him. I believed him when he said he was fine. I…I should know him better.”

“Well,” Jason said awkwardly, “I guess we have to track him down, tie him up, and yell at him.”

“We’re not tying him up or yelling at him,” Bruce said.

“Aww, buzzkill.”

Bruce sighed.

“Children,” he muttered.

“You love us.”

“So I do, Jay-lad. So I do.”

* * *

The converted theatre didn’t reveal much other than that wherever Tim had decided to flee to, he had obviously been prepared. There was no food or trash in the house, and all Tim’s things were neatly packaged as if waiting for movers to come take them away.

Jason was checking Tim’s bathroom when he found a bloody petal. It was small, tucked away behind the trash can.

“Bruce! Get in here!”

Bruce charged into the room. Jason wordlessly held up the flower petal with a pair of tweezers.

“Fuck. Hanahaki,” Bruce whispered.

“I think finding Tim just got a lot more pressing,” Jason said.

Bruce didn’t reply, too busy pulling out his phone.

“I’m calling a family meeting,” he said, “This is top priority.”

* * *

Tim eased the Toyota Hylux he’d rented from the rental centre in Keflavik along the gravel road, taking in the sites of F26 before he turned off onto the old dirt track where his cabin was.

Iceland had perhaps been an unconventional place to choose to die, but Tim didn’t want to be disturbed and the only hero he knew had ever made their presence known in Iceland was Aquaman, who was unlikely to rat him out on the ground that he was unlikely to give two shits about Tim being there.

Not that Arthur would be likely to even see Tim. He’d carefully picked his hideout for the most isolated cabin on the island, so anyone being able to find him easily would be a shock.

Which is why it was so damn frustrating to see a helicopter parked by his cabin and two grinning assassins (plus Pru, who was glaring) standing at his front door).

“I thought it was clear I wanted to be alone to die,” Tim grumbled as he got out of his truck.

“We’re not just here for company,” Z said, “We’re also here to throw your body into a volcano when you die so Ra’s does put you in a pit.”

“…well, I suppose I can accept your help, then.”

“We’ll unload your things for you.”

“That’s not necessary, Owens, I can do it.”

The team looked at him. He was swaying on his feet.

“Okay, fine,” he said, “I give in. I’ll be the invalid.”

* * *

The days spent at the cabin were mostly peaceful. Tim would stumble out of bed each morning, cajole one of the assassins into taking him somewhere where he could take pictures, be harried into eating healthy meals by one of them, and cough up some bloody flower petals.

One day while out at Breiðafjörður, he sat down on the ground, staring out at the sea and watching as the breeze blew the petals out over it.

“So, how’s it feel to be a dead man walking?” Pru asked him.

“Callous much?”

She scoffed.

“I just want to check in, bitch.”

“Your manners suck,” he mused, “I don’t know. I’m probably doing better than you would expect. Not my first time staring down death. Not even my first time staring down death from Hanahaki. So I guess I just feel…a bit numb. Maybe a bit upset that I’m dying because of some stupid flowers and me always loving people who can’t love me back.”

“Oof,” said Pru.

“I’m sad, Pru. I want bread.”

She sighed.

“We’ll go to the place with the hot spring bread. For the fourth time this week. On a Tuesday.”

“Don’t begrudge a dying man his wishes.”

“Oh, I’m begrudging them.”

“You suck,” Tim said as he stood, “C’mon, Pru, we’ll grab bread to go and then hit up Öskjuvatn.”

“…and what in the fuck is Öskjuvatn?”

“Lake in the crater of the Askja volcano. Two scientists went missing on it in 1907 and I want to take a look.”

“Of course you do. Because you can’t shut the detective off in your dying hours.”

“What can I say, Pru,” Tim said, “I just love a good mystery. Would love to become on some day." 

"I'll make sure of that." 

* * *

Alfred set a pot of tea down in the centre of the table.

“While I understand that we are all concerned for Master Tim,” he said pointedly, “It will not be beneficial for him if you all die of sleep deprivation before he can be found.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” Bruce grumbled, half slumped over onto the keyboard of the computer.

“See, Master Bruce, that is precisely the sort of attitude I am attempting to discourage.”

“I’ve got something,” Jason yelled.

The family rushed over to the desk he was working at, jostling each other to see what he had on the laptop screen.

It was a debit card charge at an Icelandic bakery.

“Good find, Jay,” Bruce said, “Did you verify?”

“Babs?”

“I just finished checking their cameras,” she replied, “It’s him. He’s in Iceland.”

“Good work, both of you. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

“I should think not,” Alfred said, “You must not charge in sleep deprived and over emotional. It will only upset Master Timothy further.”

“…a fair point, Alfred. We’ll get some rest tonight and head out to retrieve him in the morning. 7:30 on the dot, be in the Batwing and we’re flying to Iceland.”

The family agreed and disbanded to go pack.

* * *

Tim woke after noon the next day. He shuffled down into the kitchen, struggling to breath.

The assassins could see it in his eyes when he entered. He wasn’t going to make it to the end of the day.

“I’m dying on Tungnafellsjökull,” Tim announced, “I would like to die alone. Do whatever you see fit with my body after.”

“We’ll throw you in a volcano,” Z promised, “And, just…sorry it shook out this way, man. It feels wrong that we watched you kick Ra’s’ ass and now you’re dying alone in Iceland.”

“Life’s not fair.”

“Yeah,” Owens said, “That’s for damn sure.”

Tim ate breakfast quickly before he packed himself a lunch. A last meal of Zesti, a pastrami and rye sandwich, sea salt and vinegar potato chips, and a bag of homemade marshmallows.

“Man, I fucking love marshmallows,” he said to the trio.

“Are those going to be your last words?” Pru teased. There was sorrow in her eyes.

“Yep. I’m gonna stand on the top of the mountain, and in my last breath I will shout ‘Man, I fucking love marshmallows’ across the snow.”

“Good plan,” Z said.

They stared at each other awkwardly.

“Well,” Tim said, “Goodbye, guys. It’s been real. Wouldn’t almost get killed by an assassin with any other crazy motherfuckers in the middle of the desert.”

“We feel the same way,” Z replied.

They drew him into a group hug, resolutely ignoring everyone’s tears. They said their last good-byes, and then Tim climbed into the Toyota Hylux and drove off.

He drove down the gravel road for about an hour before he reached his destination, spent the drive just taking in the sites and listening to all his favourite music one last time.

Despite the stems, leaves, and flowers prodding at his lungs, pressing against the walls and trying to escape, Tim didn’t feel like a dying man should. Or, at least, what he thought a dying man should. He felt…oddly calm. It was almost like he wasn’t really dying, he was just…being released. He was about to be freed from the chains that had weighed him down since he was too young to remember.

And, God, was he ready to be free.

He sat back and sighed.

“God,” he said as he rubbed his eyes, “God, I’m fucking exhausted.”

He sat back with a heavy sigh.

“I don’t think I can make it up the mountain right now. Maybe…I’ll just get some sleep. It’s the 19th, sun won’t be down until eleven…oh. It’s my birthday, isn’t it.”

Tim stared at the phone screen until it clicked off.

“Guess your birthday is as good a day to die as any,” he said, “Yeah, I’m gonna take a nap.”

He curled up in the back seat and fell asleep, alarm set for an hour and a half.

* * *

Bruce was pushing the Batwing as fast as it could go (which was pretty damn fast), flying across the Atlantic at close to Mach 3.

“Damn, B, we don’t need to break any records here!” Dick yelled into the coms. 

Bruce did not reply, instead focused on getting the plane ready for landing at the Akureyri airport, the closest airport to the location Tim had written down as the place he’d be staying on the rental car paperwork.

It worried Bruce how easy it had been to track Tim down. He was usually far, far more cautious. This unnatural sloppiness either meant he was exhausted beyond belief or he didn’t think they’d find him in time.

_Or both_ , a mocking voice in the back of Bruce’s head that sounded too much like the Joker for his comfort sang.

Landing went smoothly, and mercifully the customs line was dead. He rushed the children through, barely waiting for Dick to be released before he was charging towards the parking lot. They’d called ahead to the Wayne Enterprises branch and arranged for a rental vehicle to meet them. Bruce took the keys from the employee, tipped the man, and got in.

They peeled out of the airport parking lot, headed southwest out of the city towards the Highlands.

“The fastest we can safely get there is four and a half hours,” Bruce barked, “There will be one food and bathroom break at the last town on the route. You will have twenty minutes maximum. Is this understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” said the entire family, with various degrees of enthusiasm. Damian seemed deadly serious. Alfred was rolling his eyes.

Bruce cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m just…worried.”

Jason grabbed his hand.

“We all are, Dad,” he said, looking shaky, “But, don’t worry. We’ll get him, and we’ll bring him home alive.”

Bruce squeezed his hand back.

“We will, Jay-lad. We will.”

* * *

Tim woke up and coughed, sending flower petals flying across the floor. He stared down at them, miserably.

“I’m not fucking cleaning that up.”

He rose and got out of the car, grabbed his pack, and closed the car door. He turned to the mountain.

“Hey there, Tungnafellsjökull,” he said, “I’m going to die on you today.”

He set off, picking his way up the mountain. He was slower than he expected, lung capacity reduced so badly by the flowers that he was gasping for air only a minute after starting. Still, he pressed on, ignoring the rustling noises he could hear whenever he breathed. Tungnafellsjökull was cold to his suffering, wind whistling across the ice and barren rock of the Sprengisandur, a dead man on a dead mountain on a dead road.

When he reached the snow, the flowers began to come up in droves. He coughed constantly as he walked, tossing the flowers down behind him like a twisted perversion of a flower girl. He turned back at one point, looking back over the empty valley back at his car to see his footprints in the snow, the trail decorated with a spray of blood and flowers. Black-eyed Susans, aloe, lavender, rhododendron, white clover, tansy, and purple hyacinths, looking so out of place in the wasteland.

_Probably not as out of place as they are in my lungs_.

As he staggered up to the summit of the mountain, wheezing, he could see the whole of the valley spread out beneath him.

He pulled off his pack and sat down, staring out at the valley, taking a few minutes to coax his lungs back into functioning long enough for him to choke down a last meal. He expelled yet more flowers, blanketed the ground around him with petals.

He pulled out his food, savouring it as he ate.

“Not in a rush to get anywhere, after all,” he said, a bit bitterly.

He saved the marshmallows for last, wanting to end it on a good note. As he ate them, he double-checked all his preparations for his assets, both civilian and vigilante. Satisfied that everything was ready, he pulled out his headphones.

All his trash and things packed away, he put on the headphones and selected his “I’m Dying” Spotify playlist, which everyone had _thought_ was a joke for final exam season, but joke’s on them, Tim didn’t care about grades but he he _did_ have a terminal illness all his life and liked to be prepared for everything. 

“Man,” he yelled with the last of his strength, “I fucking love marshmallows.”

He lay back, arranged his hands over his chest, and closed his eyes.

_God, it’ll be nice to have a break_ , he thought as he slipped away.

* * *

Only an hour left, Bruce thought, resolutely ignoring Jason’s attempts to “lighten the mood” via playing soothing classical music, only one hour left, and then I can talk to Tim and everything will be okay.

He spotted the first vehicle they’d seen in a long while, parked off to the side of the gravel road.

“Bruce, pull over!” Dick shouted, “That’s Tim’s rental.”

Bruce pulled off, whipping around to park in front of the rental truck. Before he had shut the engine off, the rest of the family were pouring out of the car and charging over to the truck.

“He’s not in here!” Jason yelled.

“Shit. Fan out, everyone look for a possible direction,” Bruce ordered.

The others spread out, but Duke went back to the car and pulled out his tablet.

“What are you looking for?” Bruce asked.

“Trying to see if he has either a phone on or the electronic key for the truck,” Duke replied, “I may be able to pick up the short range transmitter signal from the key which would let us find Tim if I’m able to replicate the truck’s signal- he left Find My Friends on.”

“Lucky break,” Bruce muttered, “Good find, Duke. Where is he?”

“…Up the mountain. Tungnafellsjökull.”

“Got it! Everyone, get ready. Tim’s up the mountain. We’re going to have to go up and get him. Alfred, you might want to stay here with the cars.”

“I shall do no such thing. I may not be a ‘spring chicken,’ but I do exercise routinely and am by far the most advanced medic among us.”

“…okay, fine, but if you start feeling poorly, I’m sending you down with Dick. Everyone make sure you have water. We don’t need to have an accident while trying to find Tim.”

They made their way up the mountain towards Tim’s location, rushing faster than they normally would on a hike. As they approached the ice cap, Bruce spotted a line of bright coloured dots on its surface. Finally, he drew close enough to pick out that they were flower petals.

“That’s…not good,” Dick said. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jason shot back, “No wonder you never made detective before you got fired.”

“I got fired because I was investigating other cops and got too close, so I’d say that means I’m a good detective.”

“Boys,” Bruce said, “Your brother could be dying.”

“Sorry.” They said, and they all continued up the mountain.

The petals got more numerous as they went, and Bruce’s heart sank as he saw just how many there were. He pressed himself to go faster, mindful of his limits so he wouldn’t strain himself in case he needed to carry Tim down.

God, he hoped he wasn’t going to have to carry Tim down.

A little over an hour into the trek, Cass tapped him on the shoulder.

“Is that him?” She asked, pointing at a colourful dot amongst the rocks of the summit.

Bruce pulled out his binoculars and trained them on the dot.

It was a body, close to Tim’s size, face concealed by their jacket.

Their chest didn’t seem to be rising.

“It could be,” Bruce hedged, “Let’s hurry.”

Jason scrambled ahead, almost slipping off the mountain when he hit a patch of ice. The others were close behind him.

Jason reached the body first, kneeling down to see that it was Tim. He was far, far paler than usual, lips and face stained with dried blood. Jason ripped his gloves off and put two fingers on Tim’s cold and clammy neck.

“He’s got a pulse,” he said to Bruce, who knelt beside him, “It’s faint, but it’s there. He’s...he’s really cold, Dad.”

“That may be our saving grace,” Alfred said, “If he is indeed so cold, his respiration will be reduced, limiting the effects of the Hanahaki. Once he starts to warm up, however…he shall be in urgent need of more advanced care than I can provide. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“I’ve got a sleeping bag in my kit; we can put him in that and take turns carrying him back down until we can get to the cars.”

“Good idea, Jason. Dick, help me move him into the sleeping bag,” Bruce ordered.

“I’ll take his bag down,” Cass said.

With Tim in the bag and well secured to Jason’s back, they started back down the mountain again, exhaustion giving way in face of concern.

* * *

As they approached the cars, Bruce broke the tense silence.

“Dick, you take Damian, Cass, and Duke and follow us in Tim’s truck. Jason, I want you in the backseat of our car warming Tim up. Alfred, you will ride with me as well so that you can monitor Tim’s condition. We’ll drive back to Akureyri, that’s the closest hospital to our current location. Understood?”

He got a terse collection of affirmative responses back.

“Alright,” Bruce said, “Let’s roll.”

Dick helped Jason get Tim into the back seat of the car and start taking Tim’s clothes off, grabbing the truck key from his jacket pocket. Once they had gotten Tim down to his boxers, Dick took off towards the truck as Jason started stripping down.

Jason crawled into the sleeping bag, wrapping his arms around Tim. Alfred secured them with the seatbelts of the back seat and got in the passenger’s seat.

“Everyone ready?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Jason replied.

“Indeed.”

“Good,” Bruce said. He started the car and drove off.

Jason stroked some of the hair out of Tim’s eyes.

“I’m not going to let you die, little brother,” he whispered, “You’re too young, take it from the expert.”

Tim shifted slightly, and Jason could hear a faint rustle as he inhaled and exhaled.

Jason hugged him tighter.

“You’ve got a lot to live for, Timbo,” he said, “Probably haven’t even read any Jane Austen yet, twerp, even though I tried my best to make sure you were properly educated.”

“Actually, he read all of her works,” Alfred said, “After you…passed, we would find him in your room reading them.”

“…no shit. See, Tim? You have to pull through. I have to quiz you out about this stuff.”

“But I dropped outta high school,” Tim mumbled, “I don’t have to do that shit anymore.”

“Back with us, then?” Jason replied, trying to hide his joy.

“No ‘m not,” Tim whined, “Shut up. I’m sleepin.’”

“Alright, kid. Just glad you’re here.”

“Fffffuck you.”

* * *

They got Tim to the Akureyri hospital as fast as they could. He was rushed off by the doctors, leaving the family alone in the waiting room.

It had been three hours since. Alfred and Cass had gone to fetch dinner, and it had been eaten by the time one of the doctors appeared to update them.

“How is he?” Bruce asked, instantly on his feet.

“He’s pulling through the hypothermia quite well, but the Hanahaki presents a very serious issue.”

“How serious?” asked Jason.

“If he does not either have the surgery or have his feelings reciprocated within the next week, he will die.”

“Is there nothing else you can do?” Damian said.

“I am very sorry, but the week is the extent of what I can give you. We will allow you to stay with him throughout the night in individual shifts, so that you may speak to him as soon as he wakes and determine a course of action.”

“Thank you very much, doctor,” Bruce said, “We’ll take you up on that. I’ll take the first shift.”

“No, I will,” Duke interjected, “No offense, B-man, but you look like shit. Get some sleep at the hotel and we’ll let you take over in the morning.”

“…I suppose that’s alright. Thank you, Duke.”

“I’ll show you back,” the doctor offered, “His room is on my way.”

He followed the doctor through the doors to the patient rooms. 

And with that, the family separated for the night.

* * *

Tim could hear the beeping of what sounded to be an alarm clock.

_If the afterlife has alarm clocks_ , he thought, _I am going to have a very serious talk with God_.

He peeled his eyes open- his eyelids felt like they’d been switched out for lead ones- to see the sterile ceiling of a public building. He managed to push himself up.

He stared.

Damian was asleep on the couch.

“Seriously?” Tim asked, “I know I’ve broken the law a lot, but sending me to a personalised hell is a bit much, God.”

Damian startled, eyes flying open as he sat up, hand going for where his katana usually was. He relaxed when he did not see a threat before jolting again when he finally took in Tim.

“Timothy!” he exclaimed, “You’re awake!”

“Damn it. This is a multiverse, isn’t it?”

Damian frowned.

“No, this is a hospital in Iceland.”

“Oh, motherfucker,” Tim sighed before collapsing back into the pillows, “Bruce found me, didn’t he? What was it this time? I could have sworn that I tied up all my loose ends in Gotham. Did he need me for a case?”

“What- no. You were dying, did you not think Father would come for that?”

“Ah, so it was guilt. That tracks with him. I am a bit miffed that now I have to die in a hospital, though, I’d set it up so perfectly.”

Damian paled.

“I am…going to go get Father,” he stammered out before he dashed out the door.

“Perfect,” said Tim, who promptly set about pulling out the IV.

He spotted his clothes and phone piled up in the back of the room.

_Get all this shit on, get out the window, call Pru for pick-up. Evade Bats until she finds me. Try to die on a different mountain. Good plan, Tim_.

The balcony door slid open.

“Busted,” said Jason, wielding a taser and a triumphant grin, “Sit down, Timbo, it’s time we as a family have a _chat_.”

* * *

Bruce walked into the hospital room to find Tim lying in bed, glaring at the wall as Jason replaced his IV.

“Hiya, Pops,” Jason said, “We had a bit of an attempted jailbreak.”

Bruce sighed.

“Really, Tim?”

“Really, Tim?” the boy mocked, “Really, Bruce? I just want to die in peace, and you can’t even quit being a control freak long enough for that?”

The family froze.

“What the fuck,” Jason hissed, “Are you tellin’ me that you _want_ to die?”

“Yeah, and what about it? It’s not like I have much of a fucking choice in the matter!” Tim yelled back.

He coughed, flowers spraying out into his hand and onto his lap. He gestured at them.

“Can’t fucking live when your lungs contain more plant than they do air,” he said bitterly.

“I-is there no hope of reciprocation?” Dick asked.

Tim flung a sprig of lavender at him.

“I don’t know, Dick, _is_ there hope of reciprocation?”

Bruce’s blood ran cold.

“Tim, are the flowers…for us?” he asked.

Tim smiled, half sad and half spiteful.

“ _Now_ you get it,” he said.

Bruce sat down heavily on the couch. The rest of the family was too frozen in shock to react.

“Tim, I-”

“I don’t want to hear any lies made up to keep me happy in my final moments,” Tim said, “Don’t let me go out like that.”

“Damn it, Tim, is it really that hard for you to believe we might love you?” Bruce snapped.

Tim raised an eyebrow and gestured at the flowers.

“Why would I believe words when I have all this proof poking me in the lungs?” He said.

“Hanahaki does not necessitate that the love is genuinely unrequited, only that the victim thinks it does,” Alfred said, gently.

“Not you, too, Alfred.”

“Tim,” Jason interjected, “We’re here. No cases, no mysteries we need you to puzzle out. We noticed you were missing, the Titans noticed you were missing, and we tracked you down. We’ve been basically working ourselves to death trying to find you, kid, we wouldn’t do that for someone we just felt _obligated_ to look for. We love you.”

Tim scoffed.

“Of course you would. We’re vigilantes, idiot.”

“Bruce used the Batwing as a civilian,” Duke blurted out, “Not the private jet. The actual Batwing.”

Tim paused.

“Well, that was stupid,” he said, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I just found out my son was dying in a country far away from me. I wasn’t going to waste any time.”

Tim stared at Bruce. His mind was turning this new information over, examining it.

_Bruce is so careful about that sort of thing, is it…the only reason I can think that he wouldn’t be is…him genuinely getting overwhelmed with emotion. But that would mean_ …

“You’re telling the truth,” Tim whispered.

Bruce stood and walked over to the bed, grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed it.

“I am. You’re my son, Tim, and I love you. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice this sooner. I should have been paying more attention.”

Tim shrugged.

“It’s alright,” he said, “Not the first time I’ve had it. I’m good at hiding it.”

“What?” Dick said, “Oh, Tim, not…your parents?”

Tim flinched.

“It went away,” he said.

“You were Selina’s kid that she was keeping an eye on, weren’t you?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah. Guess I wasn’t that stealthy, huh?”

“I didn’t notice you. Only found out when she told me.”

“And you were Jim,” said Jason, “Not a clever alias, there, kid.”

“Doesn’t need to be clever to be effective. Tricked you long enough, didn’t I?”

“So you did, little brother, so you did.”

“Tim, I’m sorry, too,” Dick said, “I…I know that I fucked up pretty bad, with our relationship, and I…I want to make it up to you. Somehow. I want to try. Because I love you.”

Tim could feel the flowers starting to wither in his chest.

“Who else is going to teach me about pop culture?” Cass asked.

“Bruce?”

She made a face.

“I’m hurt,” Bruce said, “I am aware of the popular culture.”

“See?” Cass said.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stick around for your popular culture needs,” Tim replied, rolling his eyes.

“Good. I love you.”

“And I love you as well, Master Tim. You are one of my grandchildren. I do not wish to lose you to a horrid misunderstanding.”

“And I don’t want to lose my gaming nerd buddy,” Duke said, “Who else is gonna help me rules-lawyer everyone else into the dust on D&D nights?”

Cass elbowed him.

“That is not saying ‘I love you,’” she said.

“…I love you, man.”

“I find your presence tolerable,” Damian snapped.

“Dames, try again,” sighed Dick.

“…if you elect to perish in such an inane manner, I shall beat you to death with your own stick?”

“Still no.”

Damian bristled like an upset kitten.

“I…love you…brother,” he ground out.

Dick sighed.

“We’ll work on it,” he said.

“It’s okay. Love you, too, gremlin. I love all you guys.”

“Yeah, kinda got clued into that by the flowers,” Jason snarked.

“Jason, be nice to your brother,” Bruce said.

“Aw, c’mon! I was just teasing.”

Tim laughed as bickering erupted around him.

The flowers in his lungs withered a little bit more. They weren’t dead yet, and they wouldn’t be for a while, but they were dying.

* * *

“You look better, kitten,” Selina said, swinging down to stand next to Red Robin on the rooftop.

He turned to her, smile on his face.

“Hey, Catwoman,” he replied, “I am better. A lot better.”

“That’s good to hear. Are the flowers…?”

“Gone. All gone. You can tell Harley and Ivy that, too, so they don’t break out to harass me.”

She laughed.

“How’d you know that was what they were planning?”

“I have my ways,” Tim said, subtly hiding the fact that his source was a letter from Harley informing him of the impending jail break should he not be taking care of himself.

“Yo, Red,” Jason yelled from the roof across the street, “Get your ass in gear, dude, we’re gonna be late for games night!”

“I had better go,” Tim said to Selina.

“Alright, kitten. Be good. Don’t get caught cheating.”

Tim grinned.

“I never do,” he said, “You taught me too well for that.”

He swung across the street to join Jason, waving good-bye to Selina when he landed.

“What’d she want?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged.

“Just checking in on me. I am her favourite, after all.”

“Yeah, right, twerp,” Jason said.

He reached out and flicked Tim in the head.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“For being a twerp.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense! I wasn’t even doing anything!”

“Yeah, you were. You were being a twerp.”

“What’s going on here?” Dick asked as he joined them on the roof.”

“Nightwing, Hood is bullying me!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Can we not fight for, like, five minutes?” Dick asked.

“No,” said Jason.

Dick sighed.

“We don’t have time for this. If we don’t hurry, Cass is going to eat all the salami rolls before we have a chance to get there.”

“Aw, balls,” said Jason, “Let’s run.”

They arrived back just in time to see Cass triumphantly claim the last salami roll.

“Oh, god, why?” Jason wailed.

He threw himself dramatically on the ground.

“Cass, how could you be so cruel?” Tim asked.

She smirked.

“You snooze, you lose.” she said.

Jason let out a cry and charged at her, trying to grab the salami roll from her grasp. Tim walked over to Bruce, who was sitting in an armchair by the fire and pointedly ignoring the pork product induced violence.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, “What are you thinking about?”

Bruce looked at him solemnly and pulled out a plate of salami rolls he’d hidden behind the chair.

“Salami roll?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Tim took one and sat down in the chair next to Bruce. They watched as the others filtered in and Cass and Jason escalated the violence, slamming each other into the floor and destroying the salami roll into the process.

“Is everyone prepared- oh my word,” said Alfred.

Cass and Jason snapped to attention.

“Sorry, Alfred,” they said.

“Jason started it,” said Cass.

“What? No, you started it. She took the last salami roll!”

Cass stuck her tongue out. Jason flipped her off.

Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I expected better of the two of you,” he said, “You are both fully grown adults, and can contain your tempers better than this.”

“Can they? I’ve yet to see proof.” teased Dick.

“You’re one to talk, Goldie, you broke your own car door because you were having a temper tantrum because Damian ate your cereal.”

“Fuck you, too, Jason.”

“This whole argument is pointless,” Bruce said, “For, you see, Cassandra did not take the last salami roll.”

“…what do you mean?” Jason asked.

Bruce held up the plate, one last roll sitting on it.

“I did,” he said smugly, and bit it.

The family’s faces dropped in betrayal.

Tim started laughing. It was easy, now. Because for the first time in a long while, Tim Drake was happy.

Because now Tim Drake knew he was loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Lmk if you enjoyed. As always, feel free to chat with me on [Tumblr](http://asexualkingoftheuniverse.tumblr.com) (though I will warn I am less active on there nowadays).
> 
> You can find the artist, Ace_Snake, on [Tumblr](http://hellyeahdragon.tumblr.com) as well!


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